Our journey to parenthood was not the path we imagined—it was filled with more twists, setbacks, and heartbreak than we ever anticipated.
We began trying to conceive in 2017, filled with excitement and dreams of growing our family. But in the midst of this hopeful time, everything changed. Brian, my husband, was diagnosed with brain cancer. The diagnosis was devastating. Suddenly, everything else—including our plans for a child—was put on hold. Life became about survival, treatment, and navigating the uncertainty that comes with a serious illness.
After a long and difficult road of treatments, recovery, and ultimately remission, we found ourselves slowly rebuilding our hope. We were incredibly grateful to learn that Brian’s cancer was not genetic—a small but important reassurance for our future. By 2020, with cautious optimism, we decided to try again.
Infertility, however, remained an unrelenting challenge. Two failed IUI cycles left us discouraged, but we pressed on. In early 2021, we moved forward with IVF. It was grueling—emotionally, physically, and financially—but we were committed to doing everything we could to have a child.
Then, by the grace of God, our first embryo transfer worked. We were pregnant. That October, we welcomed our precious son, Eli, into the world. He was the answer to so many prayers—our miracle, our joy, our everything.
Just two months later, the unthinkable happened.
Brian passed away.
There are no words to describe the depth of that loss—becoming a new parent and a widow within the span of weeks. It shattered me. However, even in those final months together, Brian and I shared conversations that would become deeply meaningful after his passing. One of those conversations centered on the future of our remaining embryos.
After our IVF cycle, we had 13 frozen embryos. Thirteen potential lives. We had already experienced the gift that just one embryo could bring. We began to talk about the possibility of embryo donation—of giving another couple the chance to experience the love and joy of parenthood.
We both felt strongly that this was the right decision.
Infertility is a journey marked by waiting, longing, and so much unseen heartbreak. We knew what it meant to ache for a child. We also knew that families who turn to embryo adoption are filled with profound love, deep resilience, and unwavering hope. It was easy to imagine our embryos being raised in homes like that—homes full of intention, faith, and unconditional love.
Donating our embryos did not feel like letting go. It felt like giving forward.
Each embryo represents a possibility—a child whose story is still unwritten. And our hope is that these stories will unfold in the arms of families who have long been ready to love them. This decision was not made lightly. To us, these embryos are not just medical outcomes—they are part of our legacy. Part of Brian.
Even through our grief, we have found beauty in being part of something greater. Knowing that other families may one day welcome these children into the world has brought unexpected healing. Brian lives on through Eli, and—God willing—through every life that may come from the embryos we chose to share.
It is humbling to know our story can intersect with someone else’s dream of becoming parents. And it’s an honor to be part of a much bigger story—one that continues, one filled with hope.
Do you have an embryo adoption or donation story? Send your story and photos to us! Post them yourself via Facebook or email us your story and we will make it available on our Family Stories page, found on our website.
Email Paige@nightlight.org and help another family build their embryo donation or adoption story.
To learn about embryo donation and adoption, visit EmbryoAdoption.org.
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