This post isn’t about Christian and I.  It isn’t a one-year-after tell-all sharing every intricate detail about our inability to conceive.  The truth is, we were able conceive right away.  We are not among the 1 in 6.

This post is an attempt to shed a tiny bit of light towards a dark and sometimes taboo place.  This post is for the dozens of family and friends of ours who DO count themselves among the 1 in 6.

If you don’t know what I’m referencing when I say “1 in 6”, it’s this simple and frightening statistic: 1 in 6 couples face infertility.

This post is to honor National Infertility Week.

This post is for my sister.

I recently watched Pixar’s “Inside Out”.  If you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend doing so.  It’s on Netflix.  In the same way that “Up” left you crying into your couch cushions approximately 2 minutes in, Pixar has done it again, somehow managing to spin a kids movie into a soul-grabbing tear-jerker.  Inside Out offers a touching glimpse into the story behind human emotions.  Two main characters, “joy” and “sadness” battle it out to take over little Riley’s emotions within her brain.  Being the bubbly, glass-always-full, and energetic gal that I am, I found myself taking  the side of “joy” throughout the flick.  Sadness just kept getting in the way, sneaking up and taking control of Riley’s emotions.  Part way through, Sadness takes the lead for some time in the story.

The ultimate lesson: sometimes, it’s OK to let go of joy in order for sadness to take the reigns.  Sometimes, you just need to be sad.

I’m a fixer.  I rescue.  I help.  I try to find the positive in every situation.

“Sadness” in the film reminded me that this isn’t always necessary.  This doesn’t have to be my job.  Sometimes I just need to listen.  Sometimes, I just need to let people be sad.  We are all entitled to our own emotions.

For the past 2 years, sadness has embodied my sister and I have had to learn to let go of my joy.

My sister is a true nurturer. She is always worried about everyone else.  She is a full time emergency room nurse.  She simply wants to love and be loved.  She has always wanted to be a mother.

When my sister met her husband, Richard, I was absolutely elated.  I knew she had found her perfect life partner.  I remember telling her that I could envision them 40 years from now, sitting together in their woolly sweaters, drinking tea and reading poetry to each other.  Yeah, they’re that couple.  They will also both be reading this post and correcting all of my grammar and spelling mistakes in their heads.

Sarah and Richard were married two years ago, and, as my sister was approaching her mid 30’s, they decided to start trying for a family right away.  The summer went by and Sarah came to visit me in Toronto.  I knew that she had just started trying for a baby.  After celebrating four years of marriage, Christian and I had just found out that we were expecting.  On a sunny Tuesday in the early evening, I cautiously shared my news with her, sitting on a patio at an Indian restaurant on the Danforth.  She cried.  And cried.

“It’s only been a few months”, I told her.  “You still have so much time”, I said.

The months went on and so did my pregnancy.  It felt awkward talking to her about it.  How could I be happy and excited about the life that was growing inside me when I knew it was all that she wanted?  Our conversations were strained.  I tried to ask all the questions and to make small talk.  I didn’t want to bring up the baby.  I tried to reassure her and yet I was angry and hurt that she rarely asked about me.  About how I was doing; about this tiny person growing inside me.  About how my life was about to change forever.

Time marched on and my belly grew.  I rarely shared photos with her.   I didn’t want to rub my happiness in her face.  I didn’t want to complain about my aching back and swollen ankles.  My baby showers came and went.  No gifts.  No cards.  No “My Auntie Loves Me” onesie.

Sometimes she would call me in tears.

“Why is God punishing me?”

“What did I do to deserve this?

Mostly, I would listen. I slowly learned that listening was the best I could offer.  How could I begin to provide advice and support while my little nugget was moving inside my belly?  How could I begin to understand the void that she felt in her life when this joy had come so easily and naturally to me?

On May 1st, Harrison entered our lives.  My sister was thrilled.  I had wondered if his arrival into the world would help our relationship in some weird way, and it did.  He was here.  He was real.  Not just some untouchable state-of-being that she couldn’t fathom.

A few days later, I celebrated my very first Mother’s Day while cradling my tiny one-week-old son in my arms. Bewildered, overwhelmed, happy, sad, exhausted.

My phone rang: my sister.  She broke down into tears.

Mothers Day had now become an incomprehensibly painful “holiday” for her.   But I didn’t understand.  I didn’t understand why she couldn’t put her pain aside for just one day and celebrate a significant milestone in my life.  Why couldn’t she just be happy for me, her only sister.  Why couldn’t she just love her nephew.  Why she couldn’t share some compassion for the extreme emotions that I was feeling in those early days as a new mum.

In the summer, Sarah came to visit me in Toronto.  We spent one week together, and it was exactly what we needed.   There were a lot of tears and late nights together.  We were able to talk; really talk.  She bonded with Harrison.  She was so good with him.  She sang and sang and sang to him.  She came just as we were starting sleep training, which is a very boring a regimented time.  But she supported me as best she could.  I know it was hard for her.  I know her heart hurt seeing me bond with him. My heart hurt, too.

Months passed. Harrison grew.  Sarah and I continued to talk.

“What’s your next step?” I would often ask her.

My “joy” just couldn’t help but pour out…I made her promise to me that she wouldn’t give up until she was truly out of options.  Until those options run out, she had to keep going.  I made her promise.

At Christmas, Harrison and I spent three weeks at home in Vancouver with my family.   Richard finally got to meet his new nephew, and he was an absolute natural.  “He’s a baby whisperer” my sister had said.  “I’m so sad that I can’t give him a child”, she shared.

One morning, the four of us were huddled around the kitchen table in Sarah and Richards downtown apartment.  Harrison was eagerly wolfing down his breakfast, as he always did. Richard was feeding him and humming happily; Sarah taking it all in just behind him in her fluffy white robe and morning mug of coffee.  They were so natural.  They were so happy.

I took it all in and the tears streamed down my face.

“All I want for Christmas is for these two to become parents”, I thought.

Maybe next month will be the month.  Maybe next cycle, I’ll get the call from her to share the news.  Maybe she won’t have to wait another Mother’s Day.  Maybe.

We’re still in waiting mode.  It’s still “one day”.  It’s still hope.  Loss every month.  Tears with every new pregnancy announcement.  Her sharing, me listening.  It’s the best I can do.  I wish I had a happy ending to share with you all.  I dream of the day that I can write an update to this post and include the birth announcement for my future niece or nephew.  But until that, happens, I will leave you some perspective:

Emotions are a crazy thing.  We are all entitled to our own emotions.  I can’t tell you how to feel, just as you can’t tell me how to feel.  Oh, I will try.  I will try to spread my joy and my positive light.  But sometimes, it’s just time to be sad.

Consider the continuum of emotions: extreme joy and extreme sadness.  When you are at one end of the spectrum, it is near impossible to meet someone at the other end.  As much as your friend may need you, if you are at the extreme other side, taking a few steps to edge a bit closer to where they are at is perhaps as far as you can go.

Peeing on that cardboard stick and seeing the “+” sign brings extreme joy.

Peeing on that cardboard stick for the 22nd consecutive month and seeing the “-” sign brings extreme sadness.

Every birth announcement.  Every bump photo. Every “band of motherhood” post.  Every “I can’t stand my crazy toddler” comment.  Extreme sadness.  I can’t fully understand it because I haven’t experienced it myself, but living this through my sister is about the closest I can get.

My biggest fear for my sister and I: what happens if she does run out of options?  I don’t even want to go there.

What happens if Christian and I have a second child and she is still dealing with the crushing reality of infertility?  What if she is still peeing on that stick, month after month.  31….32….33….34…how many months does this go on?

There’s a passage in the Bible that suggests that God will not put us through anything we are not strong enough to handle.

Selfishly, I pray that the edge is coming soon for my sister.

I pray for the day I can write that joy-filled update to this post.