Anna and I met while teaching high school. We were both in our first year of teaching, were the same age (our birthdays are six days apart), were both capricorns and had graduated from rivaling high schools. We were both southern girls: she was originally from Georgia and I was from Louisiana. We clicked and became best friends immediately. Anna has the type of personality that people fall in love with upon first meeting her. She is sweet, hilarious, feisty and has a strong southern accent to boot. Although we are similar in many ways, socially, I come across more reserved, Anna is outgoing and gregarious. We just gelled.
In 2008, my husband and I moved away from the south and away from all my family and friends, including Anna. When I first moved, we kept in touch regularly. As the months passed and I struggled with infertility and depression, I didn't keep in touch as well and began to isolate myself. I didn't tell anyone about my infertility, including Anna. I felt embarrassed by it. Anna went on to get pregnant and have a little boy. I withdrew from her even more. I sent her a baby gift to replace my absence at her baby shower and she called to thank me. Other than that, our correspondence was sporadic at best. I missed her and felt ashamed for my abandonment of our relationship, but I just couldn't muster up the strength to be happy and talk to her about her child when I could barely smile or keep from crying on a daily basis.
In June of 2011, my husband and I moved back down south and I am so much happier. When you are struggling with infertility, it is so nice to at least be comfortable in your surroundings. Shortly after moving into our new home we went on vacation to Jamaica for some much needed relaxation. I came back feeling rejuvenated and content. I felt that even though I was still infertile, things were starting to turn around for me. I started to see all the blessings in my life and I started writing this blog. I began to feel liberated from the shackles of infertility. I was no longer allowing it to rule my world.
Then a few weeks ago, out of the blue, Anna sent me an email asking me how I was doing and telling me she would love to see me since I was now living much closer. I sent an email back and poured my heart out, explaining why I had been so distant and what I had been going through all these years. I immediately felt the relief as one more chain of infertility was no longer holding me down.
In a matter of a few hours, Anna replied to my email with a phone call and she expressed how sorry she was for my plight and that she had no idea. She went on to tell me that she was struggling with some personal problems that were very trying on her as well. We commiserated together and even managed to find the humor in our predicament. Making jokes and laughing at ourselves was something we have always done well. It started to sink in that though I had been suffering for the past few years, I had managed to be pretty selfish. I had not been there for her, and I had not allowed her to be there for me. However, a best friend should always understand why, and she did. It felt so good talking to her and having someone that I care about so deeply truly listen about my infertility without making an insensitive remark or adding her two cents. She commended me for dealing with infertility, telling me that she believes it has to be one of the most difficult things to encounter in life and that most people don't even come close to feeling the emotional pain that I have felt for four years. She validated all my feelings with that statement. (Empowering others is something that we teachers are really good at.)
Having a best friend like Anna is one of life's greatest gifts. A best friend is understanding and kind. She wants to build you up instead of tear you down. And no matter how many years pass, she will welcome you back with open arms and you'll feel like you've never been gone.
"When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares." ~Henri Nouwen
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