This week is National Infertility Awareness Week, and I would regret not saying something about it. However, it’s difficult for me to always know what to say. Not because I mind talking about it. I don’t at all.
It’s because I have SO. MUCH. TO. SAY. and just don’t know where to start and how to include it all.
But here are a few things I will say for now . . . infertility completely changed me. Those long 8 years and the changes that occurred in me physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually are all etched into my memory forever. If you knew me then and know me now, you had to experience some of those difficult changes.
Most of it was a horrible nightmare that I wish I could forget, but there are some very sweet moments that I actively choose to remember because they are what kept me going. And all of those sweet moments involve the unconditional love of my husband who spent those 8 years just as devastated as I was, but also managed to support, love, encourage, provide, comfort, and serve me at every single turn. I thank the Lord for him every day. Yes, many couples are torn apart by infertility, and I’m grateful that was never an option for us.
And here is what I know after those 8 years of dealing with infertility and 15 more years of dealing with the grief that accompanies infertility and the loss of our twins, God might be silent at times and His answer might be “no”, but He is always there. Always.
The life I imagined, the dreams that were obliterated, the loneliness from the masses of people who didn’t understand, and even more who refused to try and understand, it is soul crushing. The friends who faded away because they were too busy raising their kids and the friends who were silent because they didn’t know what to say, it was devastating. Those things change you. I mean, REALLY change you. It can’t be helped. Life changes you.
But my Saviour, my God, was there, every day, saving me. Sitting with me when I was sobbing face down on the floor. Listening to me when I screamed and cursed so loud that my throat hurt for days. Pulling me out of the deepest and darkest pits I ever thought imaginable. Holding my hands when my fists clenched at insensitive comments. Sustaining me when everyone thought we were fine. Giving me His calming words in those “no one is allowed past these hospital doors” moments. Giving me breath when the pain was so severe I could no longer breathe on my own. Loving me when I blamed Him. Carrying me when I could no longer move. Saving me when I thought life was over.
And every single day since then, I remember that. I remember all those moments. I remember that I am changed. I remember that you do not get over grief. I remember that time does not fill up those empty holes. I remember that you carry that pain through life. I remember there may be a long dark path. But I also remember that He is always there. I remember that you don’t have to be swallowed up by the darkness. I remember that He can still give you JOY. I remember that this world is not my home. And I remember that I have an eternal, everlasting hope for that day when darkness will be forever swallowed up by THE Light.