What it feels like to be a man struggling with infertility

I will never be a father. I will never get to see my son play rugby. I will never get to walk my daughter down the aisle on her wedding day. I will never get a call from my son saying he’s finally met “the one.” I will never see my children be baptized.

I will never watch Star Wars with my son for the first time. I will never see my little girl go to her first day of school. I will never get to protect my daughter from monsters in her closet. I will never get to read The Chronicles of Narnia with my son before bed. I will never get a call from my wife saying she’s going into labor. I will never get to hear my daughter laugh at my jokes. I will never get to take my son fishing. I will never give my children birthday or Christmas presents.

God in his gracious wisdom has replaced these blessings with experiences I never could have imagined. Special things like taking a bathroom break at work so I can lock the door and sit on the disgusting bathroom floor to weep uncontrollably. Or choking back tears as I listen to one of the special-needs kids I work with talk about how their dad overdosed again, while all I can think is “I wish this was my child. I wish his awful parents were dead so I could adopt him.” Or the overwhelming desire to kill myself so my wife could be free of her failure of a husband and find a man who doesn’t have undescended testicles. Thanks, God.

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