The Infertile Truth, Post 5: Harsh Reality

*This is the most depressing of all the posts. The next (and last) one will be much better. I’ll end on a happy note, don’t worry.

This applies to anyone without kids that wanted them, single or married. There are scary realities we face in the “no children” scenario. Ones people probably don’t think about.

I have no offspring to pass along my valuables. I don’t have a child to give my wedding dress to one day, or all the family pictures and heirlooms. We’ll have to be one of those people who wills everything to their pet.

You know how people are always saying that just how parents take care of their kids, their kids will one day have to take care of them? We won’t have adult children to look after us. We’ll be sent to a home and we’ll be in the care of random strangers. We’ll have to hope that maybe a niece or nephew will come visit us, because there will be no children or grandchildren signing the visitor log.

Speaking of grandchildren: not happening. I won’t have a grandchild scavenging my purse for a quarter so they can buy a Now and Later from the snack shack at the ballpark. I won’t be striking up a conversation with a person who doesn’t care at the grocery store about my grandchild’s latest accomplishment.

Our family line will end. Once we die, the Chad and Sara Cluff family will cease to exist. It’s a horrifying thought.

I’ve been dying to know what a little Chad/Sara would look like and I may never find out. Would they have his red hair and my green eyes?

All those names we picked out years ago for our future children? They’re becoming characters in my books because I’ll never actually be able to use them. Chad is named after his father. We would have done the same with our son. I would have given my daughter my middle name.

We have to sit back and watch other couples hold a baby in their arms, watch their kids take their first step, say their first word, start school, lose their first tooth, get baptized, go on their first date, get their first kiss, graduate high school, graduate college, get married, have their own children. No daddy/daughter dances, playing catch, signing them up for baseball and football, father/son outings, family vacations, taking them to Disneyland for the first time and showing them that Big Thunder Mountain Railroad is, in fact, the greatest roller coaster to ever exist, watch them try and fail miserably at the violin, have them read my books, and have Chad take them to BYU football games.

All we can do is sit there and think: That will never be us.

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