Parallel Selves

#BarrenBesties M’Recia and Brooke collaborated to create the piece we’re sharing today, which we displayed in “Arches in Perspective” in Salt Lake City earlier this year. Be sure to click on the audio at the bottom to hear Brooke talk more about what went into creating the piece.

Parallel Selves
M’Recia Seegmiller and Brooke Walrath
mixed media – photography, graphic design, poetry

I wanted to use my idea of creating images that show what longing for a child feels like and I asked my friend and colleague Brooke to collaborate with me. I told her about my ideas and she shared a poem she wrote with me called I Envy Myselves. I immediately loved her poem and, together, we felt inspired to create a photography piece to go with her poem.

 


Connection

Leanne Schuetz was inspired by her #BarrenBesties to create this piece, which we first exhibited during “Cradling Creativity” in Philadelphia. Leanne’s piece, “Advanced Maternal Age”, is currently on display in our exhibit “Visualizing Voices of Reproductive Loss” at the University of Wisconsin Madison, now through the end of May.

“Connection”
Artist: Leanne Schuetz
Mixed Media on 9×12 Canvas board

I was inspired by the quote that says “When you can’t look on the bright side, I will sit with you in the dark”

This piece is a tribute to the dear infertility friends I have made through out my journey.  Women who never told me that I had to cheer up, or relax but allowed me to feel my disappointments and heartbreak and said, “Me too, you are not alone.”

Connection by Leanne Schuetz

 

 

 

 

Click below to hear Leanne recite her label.

My Four-Year Break from Infertility Treatments

by Elizabeth Walker

Four years ago today, I put the final pieces of artwork on the wall and opened what became the first exhibit of The ART of Infertility.  There’s no way I could have imagined then, what this organization and the people I’ve met through it would become to me.

The remnants of my IVF retrieval and frozen embryo transfers, included in the piece, Crib with Medication Boxes.

I’d just completed my final treatment cycle, a frozen embryo transfer, which was unsuccessful. I didn’t know where I’d go next, but I knew I needed time and space to figure things out. The ART of Infertility has been that for me over these years. Even better, it has allowed me to give others their own time and space so that they may also use art as a source of healing.

In the past four years, my dear friend and co-director, Maria and I, along with a team of dedicated and passionate interns and volunteers, have traveled to 14 states and the District of Columbia (plus Switzerland) and held 22 exhibits and 23 workshops, and given 12 presentations. We’ve collected and shared hundreds of infertility stories through art.

I’m forever grateful to those of you who have supported this organization. To you who have spread the word, attended our events, allowed us to come into your homes to interview you, and have parted with your artwork so we can travel with it and share diverse stories of infertility, we thank you. To our exhibit hosts, partners, and sponsors, thank you for helping us amplify the voices and experiences of those with infertility. To our families; Scott, Kevin, and our pups­­, who miss us both when we’re home and when we’re gone, thank you for understanding what this work means to us.

We have exciting exhibits and programming this year. We just wrapped an amazing month in Salt Lake City, Utah and in Oshkosh, Wisconsin. In a matter of weeks, we’ll be in Madison, WI and we will spend the month of June in Los Angeles and the month of October in Chicago. We feel lucky every day that we get to do this work, even luckier when we’re jet-lagged and our muscles are sore from hauling suitcases, because it means we’re reaching further than we ever imagined.

I set out to be a parent, and co-parenting this organization with Maria has made every bit of my infertility journey worth it.

Check out our upcoming schedule, current calls for art, and find out how you can get involved at artofinfertility.org.

Pain, Regret, and Blood: A Journey in Infertility

Today’s blog post is from J. Clyde Wills. He recently visited our exhibit, “Reflections of Reproductive Loss & Access to Care,” at University of Wisconsin, Oshkosh and contacted us afterward to share some of his story with us.

While infertility affects men and women equally, we don’t as often hear the perspectives of men dealing with an infertility diagnosis. Our mission is to share stories, especially under-represented stories, through the creative expression of art and writing, making infertility visible. That’s why we invited J. Clyde to share his story with you today. It’s also why we feel it’s important to incorporate specific programming around men’s stories, and the ways that infertility impacts men’s health, during Men’s Health Month each June.

This year, we’re again partnering wiith Dr. Paul Turek of The Turek Clinics to present an art exhibit and programming in Los Angeles from June 9 – 30. We hope you’ll check out our event landing page for initial information on “Reimagining Reproduction: The ART of Infertility in Los Angeles” and submit your artwork for consideration via our call for art.

We will have a special focus on highlighting the artwork and stories of men, as well as single parents by choice, those in the LGBTQ+ community, and other under-represented individuals and groups who are dealing with infertility or must use assisted reproductive technologies to help them build their families.

These perspectives are so valuable. Thanks, J. Clyde Wills, for sharing yours with us today!

Pain, Regret, and Blood: A Journey in Infertility

By J. Clyde Wills

I can’t talk about it without crying: IUI, IVF and five failed adoptions. We were trying egg donation before our marriage fell apart. I suppose I am still crying.

Kate* and I started the old fashioned way, which is what all newly married couples do whether they want babies or not. But we did. No one told me making babies would be so hard. In fact, high school health class taught me the opposite. When I was younger I never considered not using protection because even a romantic gesture could cause pregnancy.

Our first stop in fertility was at the Yale Fertility Center. We were told was one of the best fertility centers in the country. The first round of IUI, intrauterine insemination, yielded no results, so we tried IVF for the next round. Insurance only covered the first one so this round of in vitro fertilization was on us. During the whole process my role felt so secondary. It was my job to go into a little room at the doctor’s office containing the most regressive pornography I had ever seen, make my contribution into a sterilized container, and then get out of the way. After that it was my job to administer the shots.

I felt so helpless. I wanted to do more but there was nothing else I could do but give support and love. So I did that. Truthfully Kate was strong enough to give herself the shots.

Our hopes soared as Kate’s blood tests came back positive. The news that we were pregnant was intoxicating which made Kate’s daily regimen of shots easier to bear. Everyday I administered injections into her tummy but the discomfort became worth it. We were having a baby.

Our hopes changed the day Kate received her first ultrasound. The doctor passed the wand over her uterus but there was nothing. It was not just that there was no heartbeat but nothing at all. Hormones levels clearly read pregnancy but her uterus was empty. The pregnancy was ectopic and needed to be ended. After months of injections Kate now had to be treated with methotrexate, a drug normally used in chemotherapy, to end the pregnancy we had dreamed of.

We took a long break after that. Ending the pregnancy was too devastating. So we decided to try adoption. I wish someone had told the cruel reality of domestic adoption. I don’t know what I was expecting but I wasn’t expecting this. We chose Lutheran Social Ministries as our agency. I was making a career as a Lutheran minister so it made sense to us. The first two adoptions failed quickly. Our agency connected us to birth mothers and after the emotional journey of meeting them and filling out forms the birth mothers chose another couple. That is how the system works. Potential adoptive parents must woo and court birth mothers who have the option to accept or reject and can always later change their minds.

Then we got the call. A woman was giving birth on the other side of the state. She was choosing an adoption plan for her baby so I left work and we drove to the hospital stopping at Baby’s R’ Us along the way to fill the car with everything we needed. After a long day we came home with Jacob whom we named after my father. For five days it was the kind of bliss that comes with being a new parent. We lived in 24-hour shifts as we fed him, changed him and loved him. This is where I start crying.

Photo by Aditya Romansa

After the fifth day we got the call. Jacob’s birth mother had changed her mind and a social worker would be coming to our house to take him away. That is also how the system works. Until she signs the surrender documents a birth mother has 90 days to have a change of heart. We would later learn that birth mom had used the adoption process to manipulate her own parents into keeping the baby. Giving Jacob away on that day may have been the worst day of my life. It felt no less like a piece of me had been amputated.

After Jacob, Kate and I took matters into our own hands, abandoned Lutheran Social Ministries and pursued private adoption. There is a whole cottage industry of adoption attorneys and we found one in Jacksonville, FL. It is more expensive but the success rate is higher. This is when we met Andrea.

Andrea already had five successful pregnancies. Her first child was adopted by her brother and her other four babies were adopted by couples like us. This was number six. Andrea denied that she was selling her babies to fund her addiction to crack cocaine. But we didn’t care. We just wanted a child. After months of regular visits to Florida and writing lots of checks Andrea disappeared. She went off the radar for a long time with no one, including her family and the attorney, having any idea where she was.

Andrea re-emerged when it was time to give birth and informed us she was keeping the baby. It was her right. Kate and I had no claim to the child, even after it was admitted that Andrea never had any intention of giving up her child and only wanted someone to pay her bills while she was pregnant. The sad part is Andrea did not get to keep her daughter either. Because of her continued abuse of drugs Andrea’s little girl was placed with a family member. Kate and I were never considered.

One more failed adoption after that and Kate and I quit the adoption game for good. We decided to try egg donation. The process is much the same as IUI and IVF with it’s many visits to doctors and shots in the tummy with hormones. The only difference is the egg is donated through any one of a variety of organizations. We scrolled through profiles like it was an online dating site until we found a match that made sense with a price we could handle. A suitable donor was selected but before the process could start our marriage disintegrated.

The end of our marriage is its own tragedy. It could be best equated to a scene from the 1973 film the Long Goodbye where, in order to intimidate his enemies, a gangster smashes a Coke bottle across his own lover’s face right after saying to her, “You are the single most important person in my life.” In truth there was never any violence in our marriage but the end was no less painful. I died that day.

I look at The ART of Infertility exhibit and see my life unfolding before me. I see the many sculptures built from fertility medications and remember every puncture into Kate’s smooth, soft skin. The crib containing $12,000 of medications is specifically heartbreaking. I recognize all of them because it was the contents of our pantry for years. It also reminded me of the crib and stroller that collected dust in a room that was never used. I still have a red biohazard container holding an entire regimen of soiled needles. I should have gotten rid of it years ago but haven’t done it. It is a visceral reminder represented in pain, regret and blood. I can’t let it go.

There is no trace of kumbaya in this story. Not everyone gets a happy ending. Not everyone gets a child or a family, regardless of effort or money spent. Not all dreams come true.

But I won’t allow my story to end this way. It’s not fair to me or to you. I find healing seeing this story expressed through art. Their story is my story and it comforts me. It also reminds me that in grief it is healthy to give my soul a voice and the permission for it to cry and sing. As loss is released, my burdens grow wings and fly away leaving me on earth clutching tightly onto the last of joy. If I am allowed one last prayer it is to see that joy blossom into redemption.

*Names have been changed to protect privacy.

Mingling (Infertility) Experience Research and Friendship

While curating Cradling Creativity in Philadelphia, we had the pleasure to virtually connect with Bethany Johnson, MPhil, MA and Margaret M. Quinlan, PhD, two professors at UNC Charlotte. They graciously shared with us their research on infertility and communication. What struck us even moreso was how they were personally touched by infertility – through friendship. We want to share their story as it sheds light on both the impact of infertility on scholarship and teaching but also on the importance of friendship and support.  — The ART of Infertility

By Bethany Johnson, MPhil, MA  and  Margaret M. Quinlan, PhD

Our research journey began in a hotel room on a research trip when I (Bethany) learned an IVF cycle might have failed (they were ultimately able to freeze two embryos). I was in my third year of failed treatments then. It was a horrible morning—they called while I was in the shower at 7:38 a.m. I remember the exact time because the embryologist left a message saying “I really don’t like to leave messages on people’s voicemail,” yet I was not informed when I could expect a call, and the office wouldn’t open until 9 a.m., so there was no one for me to call back. I felt powerless, devastated and angry.

Meanwhile, Maggie was so upset for me—she asked if I wanted to just go home instead of completing our research trip, but I was desperate for something else to concentrate on. Later she told me she spent the day pulling her sweater over her expanding belly, and avoiding eye contact just in case anyone asked her about her pregnancy. She also told me later she never could have stayed and worked—she would have gotten in her car to go home and grieve. I felt so out of control that the only thing that anchored me was focusing on something else. I was so thankful she was there with me and didn’t push for us to go home.

It wasn’t the first time she was there for me in my treatment journey. Previously, she brought me a beautiful baby blanket as a gift when we got a dog—a gift I never thought I’d have a reason to receive. Then when I needed an outpatient surgery and my husband was forced to be out of town, she picked me up and drove me to the clinic, waited through the procedure, drove me to a hotel and tucked me in with meds and treats afterward, since my house wasn’t habitable that day. (It was a rough season.) But the greatest gift she gave me was during that research trip. She listened while I cried and grieved, dove into the archive with me, dreamed up research conclusions, walked miles around Brooklyn while pregnant, and then, on the drive home, opened up our research future.

The magic words were these: “Well why don’t we do a study about this?”

That was four years ago. Since then, we’ve conducted three studies, published four articles, made a documentary with graduate students and worked with our participants, a graphic designer (Bo Rumley) and an artist (Alma R. Evans of Ursa Wild Design) to create treatment support cards for people in treatment. Maggie and Alma both told me they wished they had cards to give to their friends (like me), and I wished I had them to give to others. But many of our interviewees said the same thing during our first study, and that’s how we ended up reaching out to The ART of Infertility to share what emerged from our research.

Photo credit: Lynn Roberson, UNC Charlotte, Communications Director, College of Liberal Arts and Sciences

These cards eventually appeared in The ART of Infertility exhibit, along with the work of other talented artists and activists. At the opening, the cards were placed in an open mailbox, challenging viewers to imagine receiving or sending these unique messages to friends and family walking the lonely road of waiting for conception, sometimes receiving a diagnosis, and even beginning treatment or treatments. Being a part of this exhibit felt, in some ways, like the culmination of our efforts to make a difference because of my experience and the experience of so many others in our community.

 

Alma’s card in mailbox, The ART of Infertility. Photo credit: Maria Novotny

Through it all, I could count on the steadfastness of Maggie’s friendship, as well as the support of people we met throughout our work, and kept up relationships with after our studies concluded (when it was appropriate to speak with them again of course). For us, friendship and research always did and always will, overlap, even as medical statuses and experiences continue to shift and change.

Our Research on Infertility

Graduate students in “COMM 6011: Visual Ethnography” course. Photocredit: Lynn Roberson, UNC Charlotte, Communications Director, College of Liberal Arts and Sciences 

The graduate students really dove into the experience and wrestled with their own ability to be allies and supporters of people diagnosed with infertility or undergoing infertility treatments. As Maddy Michalik recalled, “This was my first experience with producing a documentary, and I learned so much about artful research methodologies as well as how to better communicate with individuals walking the (in)fertility path. Initially, I was struck by the varying degree to which patients shared their journey with others — some were very open and regularly updated friends and family on social media while others only told those that needed to know. This taught me that as with any health experience, individuals will cope and seek support in different ways, and as allies, we need to be mindful of how we communicate and offer support without being invasive or insensitive.”

Nathan Pope relayed, “Our hope is that the use of an artistic medium allowed for a more immersive, emotional experience for the viewer. Seeing an individual express their feelings and hearing their spoken word may create a more reflective space for the viewer, just as interviews created a reflective space for participants and the entire project created a contemplative moment for researchers.” Witnessing students learn the process of conducting research and wrestle with these issues as they raised awareness about meaningful support has been one of the most incredible results from our projects.

Part of the documentary features infertility greeting cards that are on display in The ART of Infertility exhibits, The graduate student-produced documentary, 1 in 8: Communicating (In)fertility will also be included in the traveling art exhibit. The first draft of 1 in 8: Communicating (In)fertility https://youtu.be/7z9jfZjoS04. The film was produced by: UNC Charlotte Communication Studies Masters Students/Producers including:  Desiree Bataba, Shanice Cameron, Cameron Davis, Samantha Maine, Elizabeth Medlin, Maddy Michalik, Nathan Pope, Miranda Rouse, and Olivia Sadler, and UNC Charlotte Senior Researchers: Margaret M. Quinlan & Bethany Johnson. The impact of our draft film continues to reverberate throughout the local community and beyond.

A goal of our (Maggie, Bethany and UNC Charlotte graduate students) arts-based infertility research is to prompt future research which deepens our understanding of (in)fertility diagnosis, treatment, and support for patients. We are grateful to be included in The ART of Infertility exhibits and look forward to future collaboration.

More On Our Research on Infertility

Johnson, B., Quinlan, M. M., & Myers, J. (2017). Commerce, industry, and security: Biomedicalization theory and the use of metaphor to describe practitioner-patient communication within Fertility, Inc. Women’s Reproductive Health, 4, 89-105.

Johnson, B., Quinlan, M. M., & Evans, A. (2017).  Research based Infertility greeting cards in traveling art exhibit. The ART of Infertility- Infertility Art Exhibit, Art Therapy. http://www.artofinfertility.org/

Johnson, B., & Quinlan, M. M. (2017, Nov). Race, racism and infertility. Racism in Science [series]. Vital: On the Human Side of Health [Sponsored by the National Endowment for the Humanities]. Retrieved from https://the-vital.com/2017/11/10/racism-infertility/           

Johnson, B., & Quinlan, M. M. (2017, Nov). Infertility: Resources for family, friends, and practitioners. Racism in Science [series]. Vital: On the Human Side of Health [Sponsored by the National Endowment for the Humanities] Retrieved from https://the-vital.com/infertility-resources/

Johnson, B., & Quinlan, M. M. (2017). Insiders and outsiders and insider(s) again in the (in)fertility world. Health Communication32, 381-385.

Johnson, B., Quinlan, M. M., & Marsh, J. S. (2017). Telenursing and nurse-patient communication within Fertility, Inc. Journal of Holistic Nursing.

Johnson, B., & Quinlan, M. M. (2016). For her own good: The expert-woman dynamic and the body politics of REI treatment. Women & Language39, 127-131.

What IF?

Today, we’re sharing another piece from SEA-ART-HEAL: The ART of Infertility in Seattle. A huge thanks to Barrie Arliss and Dan Lane for submitting this piece and allowing us to keep it for our permanent collection! #artheals

What IF?
Barrie Arliss (with Dan Lane as illustrator)
graphic novel

A page from “What IF” – A graphic novel by Barrie Arliss, illustrated by Dan Lane.

1.5 years of every hippie method possible, I successfully got pregnant with one IUI. He’s perfect, and now almost 4 years old. We thought trying for a sibling would be as easy as doing that IUI…and we were wrong. I’ve heard so many stories from friends or on TV or through doctors how eventually—either with time or the right amount of persistence with treatments, I’d get this magical baby we wanted. But we never did.

2 years, 3 failed IUIs, countless cancelled cycles, 1 retrieval, 1 really horrible allergic reaction, and 3 failed IVFs later all I had at the end was 1 miscarriage. I never thought I would come out of this with nothing. After all the money and hoping and acupuncture and cutting back on running and eating more liver and so on and so forth, I thought that science would win. I hadn’t heard of the stories where people aren’t successful. Where no surprise baby suddenly happens after a year of ending treatments. No one seemed to talk about those. So the next year I did some major self care, and this graphic novel has been my outlet for healing. I may never get over the fact that we don’t have the family we dreamed of, but we’re moving on and creating this book for others who might be going through what we went through is helping.

These two pages of What IF, the graphic novel, depict the first time I had to give myself a shot of hormones for my 1st upcoming transfer. My husband wasn’t around that evening, and I thought I could do it–because I’m strong and independent and all the typical feminist stuff…but there I was, in the kitchen completely frozen with fear. If you can relate, I’m sorry and also, hugs!

Loss

Sadly, many of us have had friendships strained, or lost, as a result of our infertility. These secondary losses can be incredibly tough.

We received an art submission for our exhibit, SEA-ART-HEAL: The ART of Infertility in Seattle, that directly deals with this kind of loss. We’re sharing it in today’s post.

Have you lost a friendship as the result of your infertility? What was that experience like for you? Perhaps you would find it helpful to express those emotions through creating a piece of art, like this artist (who wishes to remain anonymous) did. If you do, we’d love for you to share it with us!

Loss
Anonymous
dress, paint

It is March. I have been bleeding more days this year than not.
My best friend, who gave me this dress, had unprotected sex
one time and got pregnant. When I also was pregnant, I could roll
my eyes at that. When I was not pregnant anymore I was
NOT OK.
I miscarried a baby that cost me thousands of dollars to get pregnant with.
“Two days ago I cried to (husband) and told him I hope I fucking miscarried so that you’d take me back.”
STOP (insert more abusive bullshit).
JUST STOP.

I lost my baby but I also lost my best friend.

Loss by Anonymous. dress, paint

 

 

Music Heals: Finding Happiness When a Marriage Struggles to Conceive

In this post, Maria and her husband, Kevin, reflect on the role music has had in their relationship, particularly in regards to their infertility. Discussing their recent following of country rock star, Eric Church, the two reveal how listening and connecting to music has allowed them to find happiness in their marriage after infertility. While The ART of Infertility encourages creative making, this post reminds us that surrounding oneself around creative processes – like attending concerts – can also help us heal after coping with infertility.

This Memorial Day Kevin and I didn’t go to the local parade. We didn’t attend any barbecue parties at a friend’s home. We saw music. Live, southern rock-inspired, Nashville music. And it was epic.

Maria and Kevin take a selfie while in Nashville over Memorial Day.

To understand the impact of this experience, to understand how this relates to our infertility, to our marriage, I need to go back some years.

When my husband and I first met, we were in high school. We were young, really young — like 15 and in love. Too young for our relationship to be taken seriously by our parents and friends, we frequently sought to escape the world and the limits that our youth put on our relationship. Often we did so by jumping in Kevin’s old Volvo, turning on the radio or popping in a mixed CD and just driving. We drove all over, for hours. Sometimes we would stop at a state park or forest to hike. Sometimes we stopped for ice cream. Sometimes we would stop, just to stop, and talk about us — what we wanted and who we wanted to become together.

At Maria’s high school graduation, 18-years-old and in love – eager to go to college, get married and start a family.

Memorial Day weekend was often a weekend when we would hop in the car and drive away for an escape. To this day, we both recall Memorial Day of 2004. We were both 18 and had just finished our junior year of high school. That weekend, Kevin picked me up for another drive. With the Wisconsin weather finally in the 60s, we decided to stop at a Kettle Moraine State Park to hike a bit. On that hour drive, we can both recall listening to a local radio’s classic rock countdown. We remember driving rolling glacier carved roads listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd, The Grateful Dead, The Allman Brothers, Bob Seger and our personal favorite – Led Zeppelin.

Kevin and I could listen for hours to Led Zeppelin. Their music threaded us together. We both felt passionately connected to the melodies and to the lyrics. Zeppelin was not only a band that we enjoyed, it was a band that connected us on a deeper, intimate level.

As we got older and our relationship evolved, time and the pressures of college and “the real world” got to us. We started dabbling in other music. But every time that Zeppelin came on the radio, Kev and I were sure to turn it up. Singing along and reminiscing about the memories we had listening to them in high school. Even at our wedding, it was joked that Zeppelin’s heavy, metal-esque “Immigrant Song” should have been our wedding song. And, if we could have figured out a way to dance to that, it probably would have.

But it was not until early this year that Kevin and I began to realize how the music, once so integrate and vital to our relationship, had suddenly stopped. Listening to music. Going to live shows. Connecting to melodies and lyrics suddenly disappeared as we struggled to conceive. Our world, our relationship, went silent.

For about the first five years, when we were trying to grasp, cope and then figure out our infertility – neither Kevin nor myself can remember what (if anything) we listened to. During this time, our marriage also struggled. We didn’t know if we wanted to do fertility treatments. We didn’t know if we should start to adopt. We didn’t know – if we were happy – even if we should still stay together. Our world as a couple was dark and silent.

Despite these feelings and concerns about our happiness, we determined one late night in bed that we should stick it out. We determined that we still loved each other. That even without the prospective of having a kid, we could still be happy in our marriage. We could still find happiness – even if we couldn’t find it at this moment.

Life pressed on, and our relationship slowly began to get better with the understanding that we were both committed to figuring it out and making it work. We moved states, Kevin changed careers, I finally finished grad school and we started to feel happier again. Through all of these changes, we also found new music that resonated with us just like Zeppelin did back when we were teens.

Neither Kevin nor myself would classify ourselves as country song lovers. But one day as we were driving we heard a song by Eric Church on the radio. The two of us looked at each other and you could feel that same spark we had back when we were listening to “Going to California” by Zeppelin. It just hit us at our souls.

Last August, after listening to every song and learning nearly every lyric, we decided to finally see Eric perform in person. We flew out to Colorado and saw his now legendary performance at Red Rocks. Not having seen a concert together in nearly 10 years, Kev and I were admittedly a bit suspicious. We didn’t know if the $300 tickets we bought were really worth it nor the plane tickets and Airbnb rental. But when the sun went down over the rocks and the single spotlight hit Eric – a new musical melody fused Kevin and me together once more. We were hooked, like a drug.

At Red Rocks Amphitheater to see Eric Church perform, August 2016.

The morning after the concert, we looked at each other and talked about how the happiness we were feeling in our marriage. How we actually did this. How we went through hell and back – still with no kid – but had our marriage, had our vibe, had our connection once more. Suddenly, it hit us – music heals. It heals for those who write and compose lyrics and melodies. It also heals those who listen and who are engaged in the performance of its spectacle.

As we returned back to the Midwest that august, Kevin and I determined to make 2017 our year for music. We vowed that we wouldn’t worry or talk about the next steps with our IF. Instead, we would take steps to renew our marriage. So, in January of 2017 as Eric went on tour, we did our own mini tour. Seeing him perform in Green Bay, Portland, Milwaukee, and two Nashville encore sets.

Eric’s tour is now over. And, in many ways, so is the one Kevin and I have been on. Throughout his tour, which has broken attendance records and has allowed him to play 40+ songs at every venue, Eric has repeatedly made it clear that this tour is because of the fans. It is because of the fans that he is able to go on stage without an opening act and perform to sell out crowds for 4+ hours. Kevin and I want to make it clear though, that while Eric may be thankful to the fans that have given him this opportunity of a lifetime, Eric’s influence on his fans should not be forgotten.

A photo Maria took of Eric performing in Nashville at the closing of his tour.

With the tour now concluded, Kevin and I wanted to take a moment to thank thank him for reminding us of the importance of music in marriage, relationships and life. Music heals.