A letter to my sisters

I love this letter. I remember reading it for the first time over a year and a half ago. It made me cry then, and it still causes me to cry to this day.
I did not write this, and can not find the author info. If you know who did, please let me know so I can give them credit. I thought National Infertility Awareness week was a good time for this post
A Letter to my Sisters:

Infertility is like a party- a big, year or two or three or more long party that no one really wants to go to. In fact, it is a pretty lousy party, not much fun at all. But by the time you get the invitation, you are already there. Perhaps it is your doctor that gives you the invitation, or a specialist, or perhaps just plain old time that gives you the nudge that this is one party you won't be missing.

So we all show up at this party kicking and screaming. But since this party is held in our honor, we wipe our tears and look around the room. We see our mothers, our aunts, our sisters, and the lady down the street. The check-out lady is there, and so is the attorney, the school principal, and the taxi driver's wife. When we see them at first we are surprised- "I didn't know you were invited too" we say. But when we start to talk with them and learn their stories we know instantly we are sisters, and that their grief is our own, and that we aren't quite so alone.

This party is filled with sisters. My mother and perhaps yours too, was at this party once. So were many friends of mine. I am always humbled by seeing how many sisters I have here. Even as sisters leave, new ones come to take their place. I spent a long time there before it was my turn to leave. You too will leave this party someday.

There are parting gifts at this party, but most of us are so glad to leave when our time is up that we just throw them in our purse and forget they are there. Then one day, while we are looking for something else, we dig out a little box. Oh yes, our gift. We were looking for what to say to a sick friend, or perhaps how to handle some adversity that came our way and we found this little box in the bottom of our bag. We open it slowly, and there inside we find it. Endurance. Strength. Compassion. We were strong, and once walked through the fire she has made us stronger still. We have endured what would have once broken our hearts, devastated us, and come through with a strength that will not easily be silenced. And compassion. Our hearts have grown and now we can, without judgment, embrace each other in ways we couldn't before. We know the true meaning of kindness, and the value of compassion. We see humanity, for all it's sadness and all it's emptiness, and we can't do anything but wrap our arms around her in a warm, full embrace. We understand each other's sorrow, and we share our strength.

And so my Sister, stay strong. I understand how hard some days are, and I know how deeply you want this to end. Please know that it will, and that you do have the strength to endure this. You will. You will move forward because you desire this more than anything in your life. You will conceive, or you will adopt, or you will foster children. You will someday leave this place, this party in your honor, but you will remain a Sister forever.