When she called today, I thought about a book I read not long ago, in which the author, a well-known theologian, wrote about the nine-year struggle he and his wife had to bring children into the world. After adopting two boys, he thought back on those years. "Since [infertility] gave me what I now can't imagine living without, poison was transmuted into a gift, God's strange gift. The pain of it remains, of course. But the poison is gone."
I am nowhere near saying the pain of our infertility is gone. It's not. Not even close. But today, when this friend called with her own story of reproductive grief, I caught a glimpse of how pain can sometimes open a space for connecting deeply with someone else. I am not glad for our struggle, but I am glad I shared it with her, because she had someone to call in her own pain.
Maybe someday the poison will be gone too. For both of us. For all of us.