I love this time of year. I love getting together with family and friends and making food, exchanging gifts, and making new memories.
But this time of year is hard. I get to see kids play with their cousins. I see children, who have children of their own, celebrating holidays with their parents. I’m reminded that I’ll never have three generations in my home. When Joe and I are much older, we won’t have kids or grandkids to come visit us and make memories with. We won’t have a packed house with tons of food and lots of gifts. I look at the large family photos that people post on social media and imagine myself as the oldest woman in the photo. All the people in that photo are there because of her. I won’t have that.
Infertility isn’t just the inability to conceive, it’s the death of so many dreams. Infertility gives birth to so many secondary losses. It’s the only thing it’s guaranteed to birth.
It’s sad. It’s something I have to work at accepting every single day. I see everyone else’s lives go as they planned. Okay. I know that isn’t true. No one’s life goes as they planned. I tend to see those with kids as having it all together because they have what I want. I know that isn’t true. No one’s life is perfect.
Mine isn’t. But I do try to make it the best it can be with what I’ve been given. I still have it pretty good. But some days are harder than others. I believe that I will continue down this path in front of me. I will have days that I thrive and days I want to die. I’ve learned to accept that this is life and I need to feel everything as it comes no matter how much it hurts.
This is my favorite time of year.
It’s a difficult time of year.
This time of year is beautiful yet heartbreaking. Glittery yet dull. Empty yet full. It can be all of those things even at the same time.