I wrote yesterday about how to afford infertility treatment
, how to have affordable IVF
. Then I googled infertility and news and guess what came up? The first six or seven items that came up were all about the same thing. A man who was arrested for arson. His idea was that the insurance money he would receive from the destruction of his home would pay for infertility treatment.
I didn't read the articles so I don't know the details of what he did or what happened. Arson is a serious crime and puts human beings at risk, especially the firefighters who have the responsibility of containing and extinguishing the fire. Of course it also puts homes on either side at risk, people who could be inside, the environment (air, water, etc.). It's patently unfair to those of us who pay our insurance and have to struggle to find legal and ethical ways to pay for those things that we need. It's unfair to the insurance companies as well, of course.
Having said that, who experiencing infertility does not feel a tiny flicker of understanding for him? Not excusing him, not saying that we would choose something illegal or dangerous as he did, but understanding the depth of his desperation?
The idea as well, that he would give up his home, not just his house, but his home, to create his family is very powerful. I can relate to the feeling that without that family, without children, his home didn't feel like much more than a house. Again, I do not know the details of his particular story and I chose not to. I am not really writing about him, specifically. I'm writing about all of us who feel that our homes are just houses without children in them.
Our houses that feel like they are waiting. Houses that were bought or rented with an extra room that either we decorated, hoping for a baby or left undecorated with the idea of a baby in mind. Our houses that do not feel like homes. Yet.
My house turned into a home, slowly, even without children. My husband and I drew closer throughout our experience with infertility. Sometimes closer, sometimes farther apart, but always connected. We filled our house with friends, extended family, a wonderful dog, and other people's children. We cooked, cleaned, lived, gardened, did small and large renovation projects. And our house turned into a home, not just a house waiting.
My heart goes out to this man, who chose a desperate, stupid, illegal, dangerous act to try to create a home. He realized that his house wasn't a home the way that it was. I hope for all of us that we create our homes, with or without children, a home that we can live in, a home that we welcome people and love into.