Alana
She was kind and friendly. She listened when I told her my life story. She cried when I would talk about my feelings. She admitted she didn’t understand what I was going through. She didn’t give solutions or try to tell me what to do. Sometimes she would make statements that showed she really had no idea of the extent of the hurt and pain I felt at being childless. But I would push it off and leave it be, knowing she just didn’t know and never would. I think though that she was a good friend. I really think that for a season, she was.
Her children came in quick succession and she was so happy to be a mother. She wasn’t the kind of person who whinged or complained about the new duties and responsibilities that were expected of her. She took motherhood in her stride and was willing to accept help or get advice. She was the kind of friend who came to me quietly and privately, to tell me she was pregnant again before announcing it publicly and she was happy to have me babysit her little ones.
I was thrilled to have the opportunity to love her children. I felt comfortable with them and my “mother heart” was easily doing what it yearned to do. I knew she trusted me to care for them. The cuddles, the reading books together and the sweet smell of their skin were so special and at that time, really helpful to me. It alleviated a lot of my heartache and I could practically be who I really wanted to be.
I thought this was the way I would work through my pain. I would give my all to other people’s children. That was it! I called it an OPC. That’s how I used to write it in my diary. I kept doing this for years and not just for her but for many other friends. I became the best babysitter and the aunty they all wanted for their children. I had found my place!
But then I moved away to another town. I knew our friendship would change but didn’t comprehend how much. My expectations had been too high. My significance was not significant. I should never have allowed myself to think I was anything special.Those thoughts came back to haunt me, to hurt me, to really affect me. It took me a while to realise I had never allowed myself the time or the emptiness of my “childless not by choice” state, to grieve. I had thrown on this new mask and this new “job” and I thought it would benefit me.
As to be expected, our friendship changed and the children’s memories of their time with me faded. When I visited after a break of several months, I wasn’t who I used to be and neither was she. I think we both tried to get back what was there but it was gone. She said things to me that weren’t kind, things that showed she no longer understood me or maybe just didn’t have the time or energy to really listen to me. It was okay. I knew I had to move on. I knew it was best and I do believe some friendships are just for a season, just for a time.
I’ve learnt a lot about myself, after these friends were no longer my friends and their children were no longer in my life. I’ve learnt to not hold so tightly but instead, lightly and with less expectations. I’ve done some more OPCs but never like it was in those days. Twenty years on, I’m older, quieter, maybe even calmer but yes, still as childless as ever.
