This November, Springs in the Desert is taking a cue from Holy Mother Church, and inviting us to reflect on the reality of death and the ways in which infertility can affect and intensify the grief already associated with such a painful topic. 

As we prepare to gather with friends and family during the holiday season, it may seem an odd choice for a theme. For many of us, however, the holidays can often be the time when loss and grief are most top-of-mind. The change of routine, time off work, seeing family members, and memories of previous Thanksgivings and Christmases – it is a perfect storm to bring thoughts of both those we have lost and those we never got to meet to mind.

Last summer, my husband’s grandfather died. He was the last of our four grandparents to pass, and his death precipitated some somewhat uncomfortable reflections on how only our parents’ generation stood between us and our own mortality. 

It was also an extremely difficult moment in our experience of infertility.

On our way to Florida for family gatherings and the funeral, my husband’s brother called to tell us they were expecting their second child. I will never forget that moment in the rental car on 95. “Why, Lord? Why?” With this piece of news, I now had the knowledge that I would be sharing an AirBnB with not just one, but two pregnant sister-in-laws for the weekend. It should have been a joyous moment amid the grief of losing Grandaddy, but for me, it was a second blow. Pregnancy and birth can be a breath of hope in the face of death, but those of us on this path can often just feel like salt on a wound. I struggled with feelings of insignificance and invisibility as I watched other family members talk with my sisters-in-law about their pregnancies as a welcome break from the otherwise heavy and sad weekend.

As the leaves fall and swirl amid baptisms and pregnancy announcements this month, I have been pondering the very intertwined nature of life and death. The wonderfully poignant song from Fiddler on the Roof comes to mind – “Sunrise, sunset” For me, it perfectly captures the way in which birth and death can feel like two sides of the same coin. It makes me think of baptism – we die with Christ to rise to new life in Him. (cf. Catechism of the Catholic Church, 628; 1010) The two fundamental aspects of human life – birth and death – are inextricably linked, even in the mysteries of our Faith.

On one hand, when we’re struggling with infertility, the usually-welcomed news of pregnancy can just cause further suffering, but on the other hand when there are not many births in a family, it can feel very bleak as our older family members nevertheless pass on to their eternal reward. Those of us on the path will likely feel the emptiness and loss even more deeply, as if the other side of the mystery is missing for us and we are left with only the loss and not the new life. 

If you are feeling this painful aspect of the holiday season, know you are not alone, and your feelings of loss and “what might have been” are valid. I invite you, however, to consider that perhaps this painful season is your “grain of wheat falling to the ground and dying.” (John 12:24) I like to think of the image of a field in winter – it looks quiet, desolate, and frankly, dead. To an outside observer, it doesn’t look like anything good will come. How could such a barren field produce abundant life? 

The farmer knows, however, that the seeds of life and fruit are doing very important work underground. While it looks empty, the field will spring into life and growth in a few months. Know that the field of your marriage and family is also capable of abundance and fruit, even if it feels cold and empty right now. The Master Gardener has great plans for you, and sees your grief. Even if He never calls you to biological parenthood, you can have great confidence that He does call you to the abundant life. He has come that we may have life, and abundant life! (cf. John 10:10)

“Sunrise sunset, sunrise, sunset

Swiftly flow the days

Seedlings turn overnight to sunflowers

Blossoming even as they gaze

Sunrise sunset, sunrise, sunset

Swiftly fly the years

One season following another

Laden with happiness and tears” (source)

 

Written by an anonymous Springs in the Desert Contributor.