February 2, 2012

my dad and my infertility

Babies weren't really on my mind prior to late October. I was focused on Halloween and while I was dreading yet another child-less holiday season, I just wasn't too preoccupied about babies and IF. My health had gone to shit again and we had dipped into our IVF savings to help fund the two ER visits in September. So, I was also focused on replacing what we took. Plus, my cardiologist put me on medication that comes with a high miscarriage rate so we weren't even able to cycle if we wanted.

Then came the news that forever changed my life and November was all about him. Don't get me wrong, I did sob over the fact that I would never see him hold my child but mainly I focused on him. When he died, a baby was the last thing on my mind and most days it still is. But, some days, the ache for a child hits me so hard that it leaves me stunned. I long to look into the eyes of my child and see something of my Dad left to remind me, to comfort me. Which, considering the azoo, makes a biological child unlikely. But it's still there, the want for a child that looks like me, like my Dad. I know it's all wrapped up and intertwined right now since his loss is so fresh. I know I am perfectly happy with adoption. But oh man does my heart beg for a piece of my Dad. A tangible part of the incredible man whom I adored. Who taught me what it is to be this strong, feisty and independent person I am. A man who was taken from me too soon.

The days I want a baby are usually after a really difficult day for me. The days were it's a challenge to get dressed and be normal, when the tears are frequent and the memories overwhelming. There are few comforts and fewer distraction on those days, those are the days I just want my Dad. I want to drive up to his house and see him sitting outside. I want to walk up to him with a big smile as I say, "Hi, Dad!" while he looks up at me with his honey colored eyes, grins back and says, "Hey, Amanda." I want that so badly. Just as badly as I want to have my child.

Grieving while struggling with infertility is an odd combo, on one hand I'm familiar with the grieving associated with IF but on the other hand, this grief is so very different. Up until this, IF was the worst thing that had ever happened to me but now it pales in comparison to burying my Dad. IF doesn't seem so scary now and I don't really worry or obsess over it anymore. I know this can all change the further I get in my grief and I know it can all change after we actually start towards getting our baby but right now this is what it is.

I keep wishing I could go back in time to a year ago. Hug my Dad tighter, tell him constantly I love him and how special he is to me, never leave Texas so I could spend hours just soaking him up...and mainly, I would run, not walk, to my IVF clinic and see him hold my newborn.


  1. Just saying *hugs*... cause I know things are harder some days than others.

  2. Hi i’m Heather! I have a question for you! Please email me :)

  3. I’m sure life will make up for the loss, Amanda. I know it’s hard to be grieving for two things at the same time, but do believe that things will get better. You can adopt if you can still see no possibility. There are cases wherein the adoptee has something very similar to the family, after all. My advice is to let the child choose you. I’m sure you’ll feel the connection. :]

    -->Landon Austin