Grateful Yet Grieving Heart

Trent and I have received such an outpouring of love and support over the last week! We are encouraged and amazed at the number of people who have reached out to us and supported us. We loved the idea of t-shirts, but weren’t sure if anyone would be interested. We weren’t sure we could sell 25, but now we are currently at 68! We’ve had so many people share our story, offer to help, and financially support us. We have raised over one third of our goal!

This past week I’ve had more tears of gratitude fall than tears of grief. Tears that my friends who are busy women with many many responsibilities themselves, offered to sell their goods and donate proceeds to our fundraiser. Tears that co-workers who work alongside me in the pursuit of justice have supported me with their two-small paychecks. Tears at the words of my friends saying the kindest words . . . about me. Tears because my nieces and nephews are supporting me by getting shirts and supporting us. Tears about gifts from strangers. Really tears about all of the gifts. There are no words that can really give voice to all of our gratitude.

Yet my heart still hurts. One evening last week I went from crying tears of joy to sobbing over the hopelessness of my situation. Eight pregnancy losses? Eight? I mean, who does that actually happen to? And tears just fell. And then another day, while texting with one of my dear IVF friends, tears washed over me as I remembered the insensitive things my infertility medical professionals have said to me. This sent me into a tailspin of sobs that my friend pulled me out of. (“They mean well.” “Sometimes it’s so hard to know what to say.”)

(e.g., I was at the doctor’s office for a blood draw and ultrasound on a Saturday morning to investigate whether I was having another ectopic pregnancy this past July (I was). It was my fourth ectopic and eighth pregnancy that was ending in loss. It also caused me to miss my good friend’s bachelorette party, hundreds of miles away in Chicago. The nurse drawing my blood offered a “well, at least we know you can get pregnant” encouragement. This is not encouraging. It is the opposite of encouraging. What good is it to get pregnant if it ends in loss eight times? Or if it lands in the wrong place and risks your life? I know this lady felt awkward and didn’t know what to say, but she is a nurse at a fertility clinic! She should work on her small talk about the weather or a sports team or something!)

Tears also came while I was sharing our story at church this past Sunday. The first Sunday of advent we talk about Hope. We shared the story of Zechariah and Elizabeth, and I couldn’t finish the reading.

While this act of sharing is beautiful and encouraging and is allowing me to experience kindness and love in a way that I would have not otherwise experienced, it is still really difficult. Sharing is hard. Being vulnerable is hard. Shifting my little perspective on life has been hard. Our hearts still ache, but we choose hope.

Thank you for your continued kindness.