“And may all that you yearn for learn the shape and song of fulfillment”
– Naila Francis
You know those friends who remind you who you are when you get so lost in the muck of life? Those friends who get what you are missing, even before you realize you’ve lost it? Sort of like Inspector Clouseau in the Pink Panther.
My friend Naila, in her magical way, always shines the light on the yellow brick road when I start skipping off into the maze of a cornfield–which these days is quite often.
She doesn’t yell at me to get my ass back over there on the path, and many times she doesn’t even shine the light right away. Sometimes she knows that I just need to wander for awhile, meander and daydream.
Yet, just when I am starting to feel frantic that I’m lost, she flips on the strobe light and I think I’m just headed to a fun disco party–really she’s helping me get back home.
Girlfriends are forever important. They are the ones who are there to celebrate our biggest joys, and to hold our hands through our deepest sorrows. My friend Naila has always done that for me.
She was there on my wedding day, reading her poetry–singing the song of my joyful soul. And she was there when I found out that my baby may never come from my own body.
My friend Naila has given me earrings to wear to doctor appointments and acupuncture that say “Miracles Happen, Hope.” She has given me a beautiful carved figure of a woman to remind me that I am still a beautiful woman, even if my body fails to produce a new life.
And today, my friend Naila gathered women I love together, spent hours baking gluten free breakfast treats and a cake for me. And her gifts were as though an angel swept down and placed them in her bag–they brought me hope for the joy of a future, whatever it may be.
So while today was in some ways a tough day (after my birthday brunch I spent the afternoon at my sister-in-law’s baby shower), tonight when I close my eyes I will say to myself, “today was a good day.”
Because today was a good day.
Today I realized that without friends like my friend Naila, or my friend Jen (who talked me down from the ledge on my way home from the baby shower), the ache in my heart at the sight of my sister-in-law’s beautiful round belly would have engulfed me.
Without friends shining their brilliant light onto this path that can get very dark, I would surely be lost.
Infertility can consume us. Yet, today I realized just how important it is to stop in the middle of the corn maze, follow the light back to the path, then to take out our own hallogen and point it in the direction of those who love us, infertility and all. Because sometimes they might need our light too–and we will never know unless we look up.
Tomorrow, I am going to start looking up.