Heavy Hearts Weigh The Same

My eyes filled with tears.

So did hers.

My soul ached with emptiness.

So did hers.

My belly was empty.

Hers was not.

And both our hearts were heavy.

"A journey that begins with loss can reveal itself later as a precious gift."

I will probably end up memorizing every line of the letter I received today, but that is by far the most precious gathering of words she wrote.

And those words are ones that I'm sure a lot of us in the IF community struggle to believe at the beginning of a journey--but after everything we have been through, I do choose to treat the path we have walked as a gift.

There are many reasons for looking at it as a gift--one that I have mentioned time and time again are the amazing friendships I have formed, another being the incredible support and resources, and now a really incredible opportunity to bond with a family member.

A few weeks ago, when I was at a family gathering, my mom said she wanted to use an opportunity of us all being together to share some family updates. Knowing my mom's tone pretty well, I had a feeling I was in for a doozie--and prepared myself for the "guess who's pregnant?" speech.

It turned out I was right.

But I had to get my feelings of jealousy in check really quick, because the story that followed brought a different set of tears to my eyes.

The family member had been pregnant---years ago. She hadn't told anyone. She went through it alone, and only days before giving birth, called her mom to tell her--and only recently felt comfortable sharing it with our family...and Im so glad she did.

She realized pretty quickly that where she was in her life, she could not provide for the baby the way she wanted--so during the time leading up to the birth, she dove into adoption research and found a couple who, as she told me in her letter, "had lost hope of ever becoming parents."

When Mook and I were driving home that night, I was full of so many emotions: sadness, love,
admiration, pain...and realized I had this overwhelming urge to write her a letter. I took a few days to think about what I would even say...

But I didnt have to over-think it: the words just came. I told her about the tears I cried longing to have a baby, and expressed my sorrow over the tears she cried as she got ready to have a baby alone. I told her about how my soul ached not knowing if I would ever be a mom, and told her how brave I think she is, knowing a part of her soul is forever changed.

And finally, I thanked her for the selfless gift she gave not only her daughter, but to a couple who would now be a family because of her brave decision.

Our hearts were heavy for different reasons, but the weight of both of our journeys gave us a reason to hope.