Emma’s contented glow from her birthday weekend sustained her through the next week. She even began to think that maybe all her months of burdensome thoughts and emotions had just been in dread of turning 30, and that the experience of being 30 and single might not turn out to be as bad as the anticipation.

            Abby and Emma spent their entire walk the following Saturday talking about the new baby. Would it be a boy or a girl? What on earth would Jackson do with a girl? Turn her into a tomboy, they both quickly decided. How would Abby’s life change? What was she excited about? What was she scared of? How many nights a week would Emma be allowed to baby-sit? Abby said she’d have to enter into negotiations with Uncle Andrew on that front, who was already claiming dibs as a sibling.

            They did not discuss how this new addition would alter their own relationship and routine. Abby wasn’t Emma’s first friend to get pregnant, so she knew what to expect. She just wasn’t sure she was ready to go through it with Abby—her main, go-to person whenever she needed moral support, girl time, or a “date” for a movie she wanted to see or a restaurant she wanted to try. As it was, she had to schedule things far in advance with Abby. Emma was not looking forward to Abby’s increased unavailability. She didn’t want Abby to join the ranks of the peripheral characters in her life—those who loved each other and kept each other updated but no longer actually shared their lives with one another. Emma had already decided that this was the loneliest part of being single—not the lack of a significant other of one’s own, but the dwindling circle of peers to witness and share one’s life. It wasn’t just a lack of romance; it was an increasing lack of intimacy of any kind. Single people of her age had to really fight to maintain any kind of consistent human connection. However, Emma consoled herself, I still have about seven months before the baby arrives to prepare.

            So, she was disappointed to receive a text from Abby the following Saturday at 8 a.m. which read, “sorry terrible am sickness not coming”. Emma sighed heavily and waited until she had washed her face to text back. She knew enough about pregnancies to realize that this would probably be the first of many missed outings, at least for the foreseeable future. It was already starting, then: Abby’s shift from supporting role to secondary character. Unfortunately for Emma, Abby had no understudy. Abby was her last “best” friend she could call on a whim. Emma would have to carry on the show alone now. Alone. That word seemed to pop up a lot in Emma’s consciousness this year.

It seems like the older I get, the more alone I become, she reflected while applying her moisturizer and staring into her own eyes in the mirror. Everyone else pairs off and becomes a family, while I’m still waiting to get started. First, they become couples, and then you lose even your couple friends when they have kids. I’m like a lost ship, separated from its fleet. All my friends have pulled into harbor, and I’m just drifting. The water hasn’t really changed, I guess. It just seems a lot more ominous when you’re the only one out there. By the time she had finished putting in her contacts, Emma’s lighthearted, carefree mood had evaporated and 30 was looming larger than ever in her mind’s eye.

            After changing, Emma texted back: “Okay. So sorry, babe. Hope you feel better soon. Praying for you.” She found her mp3 player in a dresser drawer and headed for the park with less vigor than usual. Once there, Emma selected a mellow playlist and made her way into the trees, gazing at the glimpses afforded of the lake. Despite her best efforts to focus on the lyrics, she could feel a wave of emotion coming. She tried to focus on the sunlight glinting off the lake. Rounding a bend in the trail, she saw a young woman who looked about five years her junior exploring some mushrooms with a boy who looked to be about three. Emma picked up her pace as she passed them. She tried very hard to concentrate on the rhythm of her feet or nothing at all, but it was too late. The numbers were already running through her head:

22—graduated college, falling in love

25—married or at least engaged

26—have first child

28—one or two more children

            That had been the plan. Well, maybe not a formulated plan exactly, but that was what she had basically expected of her life—the way one just expected to get a driver’s license at 16, or to have one’s first drink at 21. It seemed like the natural timeline of life, give or take a couple years. Most of her peers got married shortly after college and started having kids within a few years of getting married. But, somehow, the numbers didn’t add up for Emma. And try as she might, she could not comprehend the new math.

30—still single, not even dating

32—maybe get engaged or married? At the earliest, certainly.

34?—have first child, hopefully

36—have second child

38—have a third child nah, better not to risk pregnancy that close to 40

39—firstborn starts kindergarten?! Good grief!

52—firstborn graduates from high school

56—firstborn graduates from college, if he/she sticks to one major

60?—firstborn gets married

And that was the very best case scenario!

            What are the chances that I’m going to fall in love and get married in two, short years, realistically? Emma thought as she emerged from the wooded trail into the park proper. Pretty slim. So, I may only get to have one child. That’s if I get married. Even if I do have kids, I’m going to be one of the oldest parents around. My kids will not come close to being peers with my friends’ kids. And my kids’ friends will have parents 10 years younger than me. Emma felt anxious as she began circling the park toward the lake shore. She was face to face with the loss of another dream she hadn’t acknowledged to herself consciously—being a young parent. Emma had never relished the idea of being pregnant and found labor downright terrifying. Consequently, she’d never spent much time thinking about having kids. Now that she was down to 5 years of low-risk pregnancy potential, however, she found that the prospect of not having children at all devastated her.

            Have I just been in denial all these years about what I really want? Emma wondered as she passed a jogging couple and a family of four playing at the jungle gym. Have I really wanted marriage and kids this badly all along and was just too afraid to admit it? Can I have been so focused on the present that I’ve missed out on what I so desperately wanted for my future? Looking back, however, she didn’t know what she could have done differently. It was not like she had rejected any compatible suitors or been antisocial with the opposite sex. She had, perhaps, appeared very confident and content in life, but she couldn’t regret that. She still felt sure that focusing on her calling, her friendships, and growing as a person was the right way to spend one’s single years. She didn’t believe in spending one’s single years by obsessing about marriage. So, why couldn’t she stop obsessing now? What have I done wrong to make me wind up alone and unwanted at the age of 30? Or what was I supposed to do that I failed to do? she thought, looking up at the sky. Why am I being punished and rejected?

            These thoughts nagged Emma the rest of the day and continued to haunt her private hours throughout the following weeks. It didn’t help that Abby was unable to walk the following three Saturdays as well. Emma could hear a faint voice somewhere in her heart assert that her singleness was not a punishment for anything or a rejection. She heard this small voice, but she refused to listen to it. It certainly felt like she was being punished. Why else was she the only one who had never really been pursued or loved or claimed? She didn’t feel any less worthy than Abby, Lauryn, Caitlin, Janna, or Mary Grace. Well, okay, she certainly wasn’t the homemaker or cook that Mary Grace was, but still…  Emma had guarded her heart and had tried very hard not to play games with the hearts of others. She had tried to grow in her faith and to love and serve others (granted, not perfectly). She had striven so hard to be content and grateful for the wonderful relationships which she did have in her life. She had diligently chased away self-pitying thoughts and feelings of envy. She had refused to entertain musings about how much better her life would be if she were in love, or to let her hormones cloud her judgment. For 12 years! Was this her reward?! A small group of friends that continued to shrink until they were mere acquaintances and her own life contained no one but herself? Is this what she had waited so patiently for?! She was not only without a significant other. She was soon to be without others period.

            Emma imagined she could see her entire life stretching out before her—watching her friends’ lives grow and evolve while she was left behind in an ever-increasing solitude. So. this was to be her fate, then? An endless succession of students who would graduate and leave, college applications, transcripts, standardized test results, and evening television shows while eating meals for one in an empty house. It was overwhelming, suffocating even. Better to die young—in the prime of life, before reaching your full potential—than to watch it pass you by, unnoticed, unadmired, unshared, Emma thought despondently, —to spend your life in the waiting room, never to hear your name called until you die. If my life is only destined to contain itself, then what’s the point?! Why not just take me now, Lord?

            That final question summed up the state of Emma’s emotions, but she didn’t speak it out loud or write it in her journal because she wasn’t actually talking to God this time. She felt too hurt and betrayed to want to pray, and she was too ashamed of these feelings to face God. Secretly, unbeknownst even to herself, part of her was punishing Him. Don’t you dare touch me! she was unconsciously saying. You can be here and watch, but don’t touch me. I’m hurting so much and You don’t care enough to fix it. You put me here. It’s Your fault I’m still alone. Every self-absorbed and petty emotion which she had successfully avoided in her previous years of singleness suddenly flooded her like a tsunami, and she was unprepared.

Emma was overcome. She vacillated between bitterness and numbness. She did not know herself anymore. And yet, she somehow felt that she was being reunited with something central to her being which had been kept from her all these years. She felt she was entitled to withdraw from the world and hold the broken, weeping thing inside her. Clearly, no one else would.

            At work, she was her usual, efficient self. Perhaps she seemed more engrossed in her work than usual, but she still greeted everyone with a smile. She still chatted with Shelley and Sharona, although she interjected slightly less frequently into their banter. She still welcomed prospective students and returning alumni into her office. She still faithfully attended church on Sunday, though her Sunday school attendance had deteriorated from sporadic to nonexistent. While she was engaged in these activities, Emma came out of herself and attended to those around her. She still wanted to do a good job for her students and to be a good neighbor. However, she no longer felt like her authentic self in these settings. Her true self emerged at the end of the day, as soon as she was home alone and could collapse inside herself.

            No one asked Emma what was wrong, or even seemed to notice a change, and she was relieved. In part, she was making such an effort to continue on as normal because she wouldn’t have been able to explain her state without sounding crazy. The closest thing she could compare it to was grief over the loss of a loved one. In truth, she felt as if she had lost someone, but not just anyone. She had watched people go through the loss of a family member before, and she was pretty sure she was reacting the same way: shutting down emotionally, crying all the time, watching tv without seeing anything, soaking in the tub or lying under the covers for hours without moving, forgetting to eat some nights until her stomach started growling, pretending not to be home when the phone rang.

It was as if the love of her life had died—only, she hadn’t met the love of her life. Only, unlike the grieving spouses she had observed, it wasn’t that Emma couldn’t picture the future without the love of her life. She could picture it—with excruciating clarity. It was empty. She missed him when she woke up to a silent house and no friendly good morning. She missed him when she did errands by herself, and when she went through the drive-thru because she couldn’t bear to spend another meal in the public eye by herself but had forgot to buy anything to cook. She missed him so much when she went to bed at night and the rest of the world had fallen asleep and ceased to provide her any distraction that she could barely breathe.

The problem was, when someone really lost a family member or loved one, their circle shared in the loss and gathered around to support them. People understood that grief; it was justifiable. It was visible. When you grieve over the severe absence of something you never had and likely never will have, you can’t tell anyone. It’s not socially acceptable or rational. It’s purely internal. People don’t know it’s happening. So, Emma pulled into a self-protective cocoon.

            Abby could tell that Emma was somewhat different, even though she hadn’t seen her in person for almost a month. Saturday afternoon phone calls had replaced their walks due to Abby’s persistent struggle with morning sickness. Although Emma sounded chipper and witty on the phone, Abby could tell something was a bit off. Her spark was gone. Emma gave briefer, less detailed responses to questions about her own life and redirected the conversations quickly back to Abby’s pregnancy and health. This wasn’t exactly unusual, as Emma usually focused conversation on the other person. Still, somehow, Emma just seemed to have less to say. Occasionally, Emma would repeat a question she’d already asked or seem to struggle to find a response. Abby couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she knew Emma was keeping something from her.

            Emma, meanwhile, began to enjoy walking alone on Saturday mornings. It was a welcome chance to sweat out all her emotions and forget life for a while before facing the weekend. One Saturday, she found a voicemail from Abby on her cell phone when she got back to the car: “Call me as soon as you get in. I’ve got great news to tell you!” Abby gushed. Let me guess, Emma thought sarcastically, twins! Her endorphins were still pumping, however, so she rolled her eyes and dialed Abby’s number before pulling out of her parking space.

            “Hey! How was your walk?” Abby asked brightly.

            “Good, thanks. It wasn’t too humid today. So, what’s the good news?”

            “I went to see my OB-GYN again on Thursday since I’m still throwing up all the time.”

            “Uh-huh.”

            “Well, she wrote me a different prescription for nausea and it’s totally working! I started taking it Thursday night and I haven’t thrown up in like 36 hours!”

            “That’s great, Abs! I’m so relieved for you. I was beginning to worry about the baby’s nourishment and your own.”

            “I know. It was getting pretty scary for a while. If this keeps up, I can start walking with you again next week. And, barring any unforeseen relapses, we’re having our family dinner this coming Wednesday.”

            “Oh. Well that will be good. But, are you sure you’re up to it? 36 hours isn’t exactly a full recovery.”

            “Yeah. We might do take-out or something if I’m not sleeping well. I’ve been craving Chick-fil-A like you wouldn’t believe, but I’ve been afraid to get any because I couldn’t keep anything down.”

            Emma laughed. “Chick-fil-A sounds good to me. Do you want to just plan on me picking it up on the way, and then you don’t have to worry about planning the meal?”
            “Would you mind?”
            “Of course not. Besides, you’ve earned it.”

            “I can’t wait to see you! I’d come over right now if it weren’t for all the housework I’m behind on. Plus, I think Jackson’s looking forward to spending an evening with his wife that doesn’t involve clean-up.”

            “Yeah, I’ll bet he is!” Emma laughed. “Don’t worry about it. I can wait until Wednesday.”

            “How are you?” Abby asked, trying not to sound concerned.

            “I’m good. Things have been a little slow this week, but I’m catching up on renting all the movies I didn’t see over the semester.”

            “Well, that’s good. We’ll have to do a movie night together sometime.”
            “Sure…”

            Emma had mixed emotions after the call ended. She was happy Abby was feeling better, and she knew she would be better off with her best friend back in her life. However, she also knew that Abby would be much more observant in person than over the phone, and Emma wasn’t sure she was ready to share her struggle with anyone. She had been allowing herself to wallow in it—without judging herself or trying to conquer it—just grieving in the privacy of her own heart. If Abby somehow saw how depressed she was, she would try to comfort Emma, coax her, and fix her. Emma didn’t want to be comforted. She just wanted to be hurt. She knew it couldn’t be fixed—not without someone to be her person, someone to share her life with. She didn’t want to be cheered up or told how eligible she was. What the heck was the good in being eligible if no one ever proposed?! She didn’t want to be hovered over and worried about, or God-forbid told how lucky she was to have alone time. She just wanted to feel sorry for herself.

            On the other hand, she knew this grief was starting to consume her, and that she could lose herself completely in it if she stayed here much longer. Somewhere deep inside her—deeper even than the hurt, forgotten feeling—Emma was not willing to surrender her life completely to self pity. In the midst of all her confusion and turmoil, a part of her stubbornly refused to let her life be defined by who she wasn’t or what she didn’t have. Somewhere inside her, barely audible, a voice cried out to know and be known, to love and give, to make her life count for something. As much as Emma tried to embrace the unruly, raw emotion she had newly discovered in herself, she could tell it was choking the life out of her.

She knew she had to get some perspective on all this before seeing Abby. So, after showering, Emma faced what she had been avoiding for over a month. She got out her prayer journal and started writing. It doesn’t have to be pretty, she told herself. It just has to be honest.