Why

First off, thank you all for your thought-filled comments. It's given me a lot to think about in the past week. Particularly on the end of relationships, forgiveness and even human nature.

Let's pick up with human nature.

Since 2009, I've been following The Daily Coyote. For those of you unfamiliar with the blog, it features daily photographs of a coyote who was rescued by a photographer. Shreve Stockton has written a book about her life with Charlie, describing a decision that was not made lightly. As a spin-off of this blog, she started another blog detailing her life in Wyoming.

From very early on, Shreve has written about her decision to live childfree. And she's done so unapologetically, filling her life instead with adventure, love and her farmily. Her decision to live her life this way, nonetheless, still comes under fire. And when it does, it's usually an interesting exercise about how our culture views children and parenthood.

Last week, during a Q&A session, a reader asked Shreve "how do you make the decision to not have children?" Shreve response to the question, which you can find here, was one I expected from her. What was unexpected was the 124 comments that have emerged surrounding this topic, ranging from those who also didn't want to have children to those who pity those who don't have children. Needless to say, it's been interesting to read everyones' thoughts and views on the topic. Equally interesting and sad are the comments from women who, though they love their children, openly express that they wish they had never ventured down the road of motherhood.

All of this has had me reflecting on the work Grey and I have been doing with David and Dee. 3 years ago, when we made the decision to starting TTCing, our reasons for having children were very similar to those around us: to experience parenthood, to have a bit of legacy, to meet life milestones and even to part of the crowd as many of our friends were starting families. Then infertility hit. Suddenly we found ourselves looking on the outside in. While others announced their pregnancies and prepared nurseries, we were making appointments to see the RE and staring at BFNs. When others celebrated birthdays, christenings and first moments, we faced miscarriages and failed cycles. While others complained about the loss of freedom and the increased pressures of family life, we mourned the loss of our biological family.

But, through all the grief and pain, Grey and I have gained something invaluable: we've been forced to really analyze why we want children, to determine what their role will be if/when they come into our lives. What we've found is that we've redefined what children mean to us and what our role as parents will be.

There's a poem by Kahlil Gibran that summarizes this well:

Your children are not your children. 
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself. 
They come through you but not from you, 
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you. 
You may give them your love but not your thoughts. 
For they have their own thoughts. 
You may house their bodies but not their souls, 
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams. 
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you. 
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday. 
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth. 
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far. 
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness; 

Though my heart is still heavy from the loss of my biological children, I no longer have a child-shaped hole. It's not to say that my arms don't ache to hold our babies, but I no longer see children as a means for making me whole. As I work hard to heal childhood trauma, I've learned that this burden of filling a parent should never be a child's to bear. Instead, I see children as an enhancement of my life, an added joy. After all, each child is a unique being with their own story, their own purpose.

Reading Shreve's comment section really brought this realization to fruition. Too often, people have children because this is what they are suppose to do. Equally often, that decision can be met with regret and pining for a life-lost or the days of freedom. And despite what these parents think, the knowledge of this unhappiness is not lost on their children.

I've said before, I would never wish the pain of infertility and loss on anyone. But, part of me wonders if the one gain of all of this is that general knowledge that by going down this road, and making the choice to fight for one's family, leads to a better generation of parents. I'm not completely naive to assume that this assumption is universally true, as I've met my fair share of excellent parents who barely had to try to expand their families as well as infertile couples who abuse and use their children for their own selfish means. But I also wonder if there isn't some blessings from this process. Is there some method to this madness?