I met Ryan during college. Our roommates were dating, which is how we crossed paths. Initially, we didn’t fall in love; instead, we became casual friends, exchanged sporadic conversations, and individually grew until we reunited years later at our roommates’ wedding. That’s when our love story ignited—quickly, effortlessly, and despite the miles that separated us.
It’s a charming tale filled with romance and adventures, complete with heartfelt letters and countless hours of conversations. For our second date, Ryan whisked me away to Paris, professing his love in the kitchen of his apartment next to the trash can—he simply couldn’t contain his feelings any longer. He meticulously planned outings to the theater and dining experiences he knew I would cherish. He loved me deeply. Yet, I realized I was not his greatest love.
He reserved that title for our daughter.
As we sat in the ultrasound room, 20 weeks into my pregnancy with our second child, we were a world apart from where we had started. Filled with anticipation, we were eager to see our little one’s moving parts, opting not to learn the sex. I planned to pick up our son from my parents’ house while Ryan would return to work nearby.
However, he never made it back to the office that day.
Instead, we received devastating news. The prognosis was grim; her heart was beyond repair, and we faced difficult decisions ahead.
“Whatever happens, we must communicate openly about everything we’re feeling,” Ryan stated that evening as we sat together, overwhelmed and shattered on the couch. How did he instinctively know what we needed? How had he already grasped the most profound way to love our daughter?
After making our choices, our sweet Bethie was born. We knew our time with her would be limited. She arrived, surprisingly crying and somewhat pink, and was immediately placed into Ryan’s arms. In an instant, he fell more in love with her than he ever would with me. I recognized that look on his face instantly.
He held her first, then gently passed her to me. Even then, he loved her enough to let her go, a contrast to my instinct to hold on tightly.
Bethie defied all expectations. She thrived—she nursed, laughed, and lived, even as her time dwindled. Ryan held her close whenever he could, but he never took her from me. His love was evident even in the empty moments when I couldn’t bear to let her go. She grew to prefer my embrace, and he never once complained.
Their secret moments included stroller walks and late-night drives. When I struggled to get her to sleep, he would take her on drives through the neighborhood, gazing at her slumbering face beneath the stroller canopy. He even took her to see the mountains at dawn on weekends, a cherished ritual, even as it left him exhausted.
Eventually, Ryan had to return to work, maintaining his love for her from a distance, always knowing that each moment could be our last. He never complained.
We lost her.
I was the last to hold her. Ryan rushed from work, only to find her slipping away on the emergency room bed. He never complained. He celebrated her life, encouraged me to grieve however I needed, and spent countless mornings in his office reading her eulogy. He never complained.
I know he longed to hold Bethie more. I sensed his arms ached for her presence, and for a time, I thought that hurt stemmed from her limited time in his embrace. After months of loss, I expressed my few regrets to him, one being that she hadn’t allowed him to hold her more often.
“She was where she needed to be,” he replied.
In the end, she will always be his greatest love.
For more insightful stories about the journey of parenthood and home insemination, check out this blog post. If you’re considering options for starting a family, resources like this one can provide valuable guidance. You can also read about the IVF process here for a comprehensive understanding of your options.
In summary, the love between parents and their children transcends all boundaries, as shown through the bond between Ryan and Bethie. Their story reflects the depth of love, sacrifice, and the strength required to navigate the complexities of parenthood, even in the face of profound loss.