My dad was my unlikely partner in my fertility journey. It brought us closer than we’ve ever been.

We got closer than I expected through the process

He’d look up sheepishly, overwhelmed by the volume of possible and entirely unpredictable outcomes of the process. Suddenly he’d remember that he was supposed to play cheerleader. He’d hop to his feet and put his arm around my shoulder, ushering me back home.

One night, over a homemade shepherd’s pie (in total disregard of the 75℉ and sunny weather outside), he asked me why this was so important to me. I told him that our family’s story, one of heartbreak and fractures, needed to be rewritten. That this choice for me was was the gestation of a new dream of belonging that I was planting in the next generation. He nodded, acknowledging his own role in our family’s history, then reached for my plate and served me some more pie.

I was my dad’s roommate for six months during which I successfully froze a dozen mini-me’s. Now, we live a continent and an ocean apart from each other. He’s in the UK and I’m in Los Angeles. He’s getting older. I worry about his health and his heart, but will be eternally grateful that he overcame his own embarrassment to care for his daughter when she truly needed him.

Thank you, Dad.