There are few things in life that evoke such varying emotions as fire.
As I sat in my backyard and stared into the urban fire blazing in our brick fire pit I felt a soothing desire. While my mind was reminiscing of cooking hot dogs on a camping trip and falling asleep near a crackling warmth on Christmas Eve, I realized how far removed infertility took me from enjoying life. I was finally able to decompress as I burned off the pain of dealing with infertility and stoked a new adoption dream with each added log and and kindling. I halfheartedly joked to Mr. Jitter’s, as he grabbed a paper grocery bag to help the fire burn quicker, that we could just burn the contents of our IVF file. Perhaps we will tomorrow night.
I am not certain why I am drawn to fire. Perhaps it’s allure comes from historical to present reference; fire was a cultivator of society and in some form or another is still a common trait of mankind today. When we are in control, fire cooks our food and keeps us warm, yet when fire is in control we risk losing everything. We are dependent on fire, or the concept of combustion, to survive, but this very thing that sustains us can so quickly take us, all our humanly possessions, and often our spirit.
While dealing with infertility I precariously played with fire and towards the end I found my ability to maintain control slipping away. Perhaps it is the control I currently posses over my personal fire that fosters my ability see the destruction of fire as a chance for something new.
New opportunity. New path. New experiences. New life. New family. New relationship. New understanding. New fears.
Most importantly, a newly found happiness.
