Childhood’s Story
I have only a few memories from before I was five. I remember moving. I remember my sister being born. I remember slicing my eyelid open on the grocery cart. I remember being carried to hospital in the middle of the night sometimes (though that happened reasonably often, so those memories are blurred). I don’t remember who I played with. I don’t remember our first house and I remember the second apartment only vaguely. I don’t remember eating the bagels I apparently loved or riding on the back of my mother’s bicycle. The years of early childhood are not a narrative to me, but rather a series of moments. Images around which little stories have grown. But mostly they are hidden.
As a mother, my children’s childhood is a story. Each day’s doings, their friendships, their habits, their pleasure in certain activities and distaste for others. It is all a story that I am watching unfold, that I am partly writing, partly reading. Their first years seem so long, so packed with adventure and growth and development and change and crisis and exploration and excitement. It is hard to imagine that they will remember little of this in any linear way. Indeed, what they remember will likely only be revealed to me when they are much much older and their memories and mine will likely not overlap very much, if at all. I will be astonished at what they remember, and they will look at me blankly when I come over all sentimental and dewy eyed about something completely different. This is how it should be.
The part of the disintegration of this friendship which cuts me hardest is the removal of my children’s best friends from their life — symbolized for me by the discovery today that my friend’s husband has removed every photograph of my children from their Flickr account. But perhaps this seems far more important to me than it would to Daniel and Helena. In years to come, they will not remember whom they played with or when they stopped playing with those children. They will, I hope, remember in a vague way that their parents loved them, that their lives were pleasant and mostly cheerful. That the ribbon of their stories seems dramatically and hurtfully cut is because I am living a narrative. They are not.
Better perhaps that their mother picks up her pieces and realizes that a friend who would not allow her to even try and make amends is no friend at all. Perhaps better that they have a mother who gets up again and tries to do better next time.
I think you’re absolutely right that the children won’t remember anything beyond — perhaps — “there was this kid, I can’t remember his name, I used to play with, before I went to a new school…”
Which doesn’t make it any easier not to be able to do anything in the present to fix the problem with your friend…
I’m so sorry that you are going through this–but I think what you wrote about children and memory is beautiful and so insightful.
I have strange memories of friends from chidlhood. There were people who behaved towards my parents in much the same way these people are behaving towards you. As an adult, I look back and do not think very positive thoughts about those adults who were so self-absorbed and self-involved in their own lives that they didn’t consider the pain they caused me or, I assume, their own children.
What the hell is wrong with these people? They removed every photo of your children? Did they also return every gift you gave their children? They sound like they are more interested in exploiting their own sense of being wronged than in having real adult relationships. I am so sorry for you, for your children, and for their children that you are all exposed to such cruelty.
It is so heart wrenching to read about your loss of your friend. I so so wish there was a way I could send you pixie dust to scatter over the friendship to repair it. Would begging work?
wow.
thats quite a strong reaction,
even if her feelings were hurt…
but i still think
that you have done all you can do
and in the end…
maybe its for the best?
the reaction seems a little,
um…dramatic? on her part…
not to make assumptions or anything…
but…
I am so sorry that you are having such a difficult time. I can just tell that this is going to be an inappropriately long response – so apologies in advance. I lost my best friend, in my early 20’s, because I kissed her ex-boyfriend (it was New Year, I was drunk, they had only split up a few weeks before…). Once she found out, she refused all contact with me – and refused to hear my name spoken by mutual friends. Losing her friendship hurt me – more than losing my ‘first love’ boyfriend. I think in the depths of your mind, you know a relationship may end – but you don’t expect a friendship to (well, you know you may drift apart, but not it ending before you are ready for it).
Anyway, I write all this, because your friend is acting ridiculously, not caring who gets hurt in the fallout. But I think most of us have ex-s who have acted like this. She must still care about you, to be so hurt and to demonstrate it so much. (But sometimes our ex’s behaviour makes us realise we are better off without them).
Maybe it’s reparable, maybe it’s not. The question is, does the value of her friendship outweigh its negatives? Is it worth trying?
I think your children will be less hurt by losing their playmates, than they will be by having a ‘heartbroken’ mother.
PS I later found out my friend was so hurt because she believed I had not just kissed him, but that I had been having an affair for 6 months with him. I stopped trying to contact her then because a) I was looking like a crazy stalker and b)if she could really believe that about me, she didn’t actually know me at all.
Why so dramatic? What happened? What did you do or say that was so bad?
Ouch. That really smarts. And while it seems vindictive, maybe it was just an emotionally protective move of the husband’s.
After my father died, I realized that my kids would have no independent memories of him, and I really grieved this loss for them, thinking of how their lives were diminished without a relationship to him.
And then I realized the loss was mine, and grieving for their loss of him was easier than actually grieving for me.
My point is you are keeping things in perspective. This is deeply painful for you, but they’re fine.
Such a strange response to remove all traces of real life friends, including innocent kids, from your virtual life.
I think you’re definitely right in moving on at this point. You’ve made a more than reasonable attempt to reach out to someone who doesn’t seem worth your time.
Removing photos seems a ‘bit’ draconian. I once had a huge bust-up with my ‘best friend’ and we barely talked for a year. In the end I decided that I missed her company so much that it really wasn’t worth it. We worked through it and I’m so glad, as she is now the nearest I have to a dear sister. We look back on that period as the thing which sealed our friendship and made it stronger. I’m deeply sorry that your(ex) friend couldn’t act like-wise. Life’s too short to wreck a decent friendship and sometimes we have to swallow our pride and accept things.
This was so beautiful and bittersweet. I’m sorry for your pain.
Stunts, I have read this post a few times. I keep coming back to it, speechlesss.
I haven’t been able to comment, because I just don’t know what to say. Your writing here is beautiful, and I am sorry that your friendship ended like this. I love the way you framed this- about your narrative and theirs.
You are in my heart, always.
I have one thing to say: BRAVO.