Last year I wrote the story of how my identity as a woman was shaped by the possibility and the impossibility of having children. My submission was not anonymous, it was a challenge to myself to openly state what I have lost and what I have chosen within the new constraints. This time, I am submitting anonymously because the story involves my sister.

Three years ago, while staying at my parents I found out that my attempt to produce eggs to freeze was unsuccessful. I texted my sister. “Oh I am sorry :( “  she texted back. Ten minutes later, she called to announce her pregnancy to the family. The first grandchild. My grief was completely disenfranchised. We were not estranged, but a close and trusting sorority turned into a distant and cordial relationship. My lonely grief encompassed the loss of that closeness besides the loss of motherhood as an identity.

The summer of 2021 was kind of a delayed Christmas due to COVID. My parents visited from abroad and the three of us went to visit my sister’s family in another city. My then counselor had advised me not to go as that would be potentially exposing me to hurting moments. Nevertheless, I decided to go. I went without expectations of empathy. I went knowing I was putting myself in a position of vulnerability. I went there accepting that my family cannot always provide the empathy I am craving for, even when they love me.

The three of us baby-sitted my niece while the nanny was on vacation. It was then, in the hot summer days at the park, that I had to swallow a cocktail of joy and sadness. It was priceless to see my dad playing with my niece in the fountains, both getting wet and soaked in laughter. It was also piercing to realize that no-children means no grandchildren and that I lost those future grandma moments as well.

When playing with my niece, I could not help but wonder how happy and cheerful she was. An innocent child, oblivious to my silent efforts to decouple her from that moment in time when I came to learn of her existence and my infertility.

One afternoon, my mom opened a suitcase with the dresses she made for us when we were kids. She had brought them for my niece. Seeing my curly hair niece wearing my red gingham dress struck a chord. I wore that dress when my mom took me for my first photo ID. I have curls too - while my sister has straight hair.  Did I see myself in her? Or did I see the daughter I will never have? I still cannot label the feeling of that moment and I may never be able to do so. But I had to hide myself in the bathroom to cry. My mom briefly saw the tears in my eyes while I was rushing and faking a yawn.I guess she told my sister because when I came out of the bathroom, pretending everything was alright, my sister spontaneously hugged me. We did not say a word but we both cried in the embrace. I had been waiting for three years for that embrace - that alone made the trip worth it.

My sister is trying to have her second child.Like me, she is finding out that at 37 her ovaries are having a hard time producing eggs. I don’t know whether going through her own fertility challenges has made her more empathic, or if it was my mom secretly intervening, or both. What matters is that each person has their own journey to understand others and sometimes it is about leaving the door open.

I have observed that similar to the adoption reaction I get from people when talking about infertility, my sister also gets the comment “at least you have your first child”. Being honest, I had the same thought initially. However, I did not voice it as I find it disenfranchising. In fact, I find it inhumane, as if children were dolls you could buy and replace with another.

I don’t know if she will be able to have her second child or not. But I learned this summer that childless is not necessarily child-noneness. There are moms out there that also experience the childless grief.

Anonymous