It happens. While navigating waters you never expected to encounter, you get hit with that storm – the one you always feared on the horizon. A parent dies.

I loved watching my dad be a grandpa. He had such a child-like heart. He was always good with kids. I have beautiful memories of him from when I was a child. I remember him telling the best stories (there is no better rendition of “The Tortoise and the Hare”), playing the silliest games at the park, and watching the best cartoons with me. It warmed my heart to see him do the same with my young niece and nephew. I eagerly awaited the day he would share these activities with my own kids. But that day won’t come. 

My dad passed away very suddenly in February of this year. I remember locking it in my mind that my niece would only know him until she was six, my nephew until he was seven, and my kids, if I ever had any, would only know him as a story. 

This is an element of infertility and grief that I have never seen discussed. I see articles about grieving a child, or grieving the expectations of what you thought your life would be. But there’s something undeniably painful about enduring infertility in a season of grief, especially the loss of a parent. It feels like the worst kind of floating. Through these last few difficult months, I have found a few coping strategies that I pray will possibly help others facing similar grief.

Earnestly seeking to align my will with God’s has been both the most difficult and most consoling exercise. While it was incredibly hard at first, the more I leaned on Jesus in this difficult time, the easier things became. I invite you to also try to practice trustful surrender. We don’t need to fully understand or accept our current circumstances, but we can pray that the Lord will give us the graces to do just that. Only He can effectively guide those of us on this path and soften the impossible desires that break our hearts.

Another way I’ve sought to come to peace with this cross is through prayer, especially prayer for, and hopefully with, my father. He was a very faithful man. I have hope that he is in Purgatory and great hope that he is in Heaven. I imagine my dad praying for my intentions from Heaven. I ask him to intercede for me if possible. Even if the fruit of that prayer is simply acceptance of this cross of infertility, I find great solace in this type of prayer. It is always fruitful to pray for the souls of our loved ones, and we can ask for their prayers as well. 

In addition to praying for my dad, I find myself talking about him often. While I don’t have any biological children to share stories of my dad with, I talk to friends about him, and I record how others remembered him and plan to share that with my niece and nephew when they get older. I use examples of his faith in the confirmation class I teach. Helping keep his legacy alive helps to provide me joy and purpose. If I do eventually become a parent, I can share these stories about my father with my kids.

After my dad passed away, I noticed how highly attended his funeral was. It made me fear what my own funeral would be like if I never had children. But I also know that being a member of a community and having people care about you is not dependent on you having children. Think of all of the priests and nuns, saints and apostles who don’t have biological children but leave a legacy nevertheless. This helps me feel far more “grounded.”

Finally and most importantly, I invite you to strive with me to remember that while we may or may not ever become parents,  we will always be children of God. God uses each of us in our own unique ways, notwithstanding what we do or do not have in this life. May we all lean into Him as our Heavenly Father, and love Him like a child. We can cast all your burdens on Him and lean into our identity as beloved children. “Jesus wept,” too (John 11:35). Jesus lost Saint Joseph. Look to Jesus as an example of mourning and navigating life after losing a parent and while walking the path of infertility. He will sustain you. 

Shelby O’Brien lives in Michigan with her husband, Conner, whom she met while studying at Ave Maria School of Law. Shelby is a legal research consultant with a background in social work and leads Confirmation preparation at her local church. Shelby and her husband have one adorable cat named Daisy but have been navigating infertility since getting married in May 2022. Shelby is excited to join her sister, Amy, as a Springs in the Desert writer!