Christmas 2014

Christmas 2014 is officially in the past.  Even the radio no longer sings of the joyful news of Christ's birth on a non-stop basis (about which Sam literally shed a tear today).  I have yet to take everything down -- partly because I simply love Christmas and the lights and the decorations, but also because it marks the passing of time.  One more stack of memories to pack up.  One more year almost over.

All of my babies were December birthdays, thus I spent many hours with the lights in the living room at various hours of the night.  In fact, given the lack of overhead lighting in our 1946 home, we use the white lights above our mantel from November until they burn out (generally approaching spring) for extra light when it's so dark outside.  So while those will stay up, the tinsel, the trees, the ornaments and beads will all be put away in the next few days.  And this year, it feels a little extra bittersweet.  

2014 has been a difficult year (and wonderful too) in a lot of ways.  We began the year with three beautiful children and four frozen embryos.  Odd way to put it?  Yes.  But true?  Yes.  

I have struggled since the day we found out the first two embryos worked.  (Well, that's not entirely true.  The whole infertility journey is downright crummy, and that began a solid year before that.) Like so much of infertility treatments, it's a gamble -- how much do you want to spend for what kind of odds?  How many do you want to fertilize for how many chances of your dream of having a child coming true?   Our IVF cycle started with 12 fertilized eggs; 2 didn't work right off the bat and 2 became Sam and Tyler.  We had 8 left.   

A little over a year after having the twins, we decided to try for another baby (looking back, I do not necessarily recommend that tight of timing having already had twins).  We grew our remaining 8 out to the next stage called "blast" (or blastocyst) in order to weed out the not so great eggs (and truthfully, to attempt to minimize the number of times and costs associated with doing a frozen cycle).  One didn't make it through that process and one became Lucas.  We another beautiful blessing and 4 "blasts" left.  

At this point we were three for three.  All of the babies transferred worked.  And I still had 4 left.  

Being the fairly logical accountant type, this terrified me.  (Note: This wasn't easy on Jack either -- this is just my take.)  How on earth will we afford 7 kids?!  What if even 2 of the 4 make it ?!  What vehicle to "those people" buy to cart around their litter of children?  And Christian Education?  Forget it -- we're moving to East Grand Rapids.  All that on top of the fact that I barely survived with my sanity the last time I birthed a child (and still most days am trying to find it).

To fast forward, we tried three frozen cycles this past year (one "blast" did not make it through the thawing) and none of them worked.  I spent a lot of hours thinking about those frozen babies.  I spent a lot of hours struggling with what I felt about those frozen babies.  I spent a lot of hours on theological, philosophical, and ethical issues surrounding these babies.  And I did not come to a conclusion and truly feel it is not as simple as some may think.  

Regardless, God answered my prayer in that I did not have to make a decision.  None of them worked and I did not have to face the "extra" embryos question.  What I did have to face, however, was a different ending to this phase.  I am truly happy with my three healthy children and, if given the choice naturally, I'm not sure I would have chosen any differently.  But that was not how I have thought for the past 5 years.  I always thought there would be at least one more.  And now I am mourning the loss of no more babies.  I know this feeling is not unique to me, regardless of how each family comes to this decision, but my situation just felt so shocking and unexpected.  So different from what I had figured would be.  

A friend of mine mentioned this quote from a blog she read:  

Christmas is about finding "the delicate balance of grief and joy over these next couple of days. It’s like walking on a tight-rope, but it is doable. It is no better to allow your personal joy to overshadow the true meaning of this holiday nor is it worth letting the grief overcome you and steal the hope and promise that comes with this season."

The author was dealing with a miscarriage (and I in no way pretend to know how that felt), but this spoke to me.  I'm not even sure grief is the right word for me -- maybe sadness, self pity, pensiveness.  It reminded me of when I put up our stockings this year and the unused letters that I kept for the next baby fell out.  But it also reminded me of how much it isn't about me and how God has it all figured out already anyway.  It reminded me that regardless of how empty the house feels to me after putting away the trees and the lights, that the hope and the promise of Christmas remains even after the memories are packed away.

Merry Christmas and Blessings in 2015.