Picture this: We are living in a 1923 tudor-style home in the 15th and 15th neighborhood of Salt Lake City and listening to Coldplay’s soul screaming song, “Fix You,” not because me and my actual husband are being splashed on a Jumbotron at a Coldplay concert, but because I am experiencing secondary infertility. I am wrecked. I don’t think I can experience a deeper pain than I felt having my first miscarriages. Beth of 2005 has absolutely no idea that she will experience approximately thirty more miscarriages, including two D&Cs as a result of second trimester losses.

I saw him. In 2013, I saw my baby boy on the ultrasound. He had five fingers on each hand and five toes on each foot. He had a cute little nose, just like Kyle’s. That would have been boy number three. We had already nicknamed him, “Sponge Bob.” I was cautiously over the moon at the thought that I would be a mom again. Two weeks later I recall being wheeled down a cold, lonely hallway at LDS hospital. There was no heartbeat. My baby was gone. I would never become pregnant again. 

On days like today I would give anything to go back and be July 2005 Beth. Picture this. Kyle is five years old and Eli is three. My two big, blond, boisterous boys are my world. Kyle is a runaway train of curiosity and creativity. Eli takes a beat and takes it all in. At age three he already has the comic timing of David Letterman. 

In 2005, we are building our Park City home. In September Kyle will begin kindergarten and Eli will go to a new preschool. On that hot summer day, the boys are in their swim suits running around the yard in between the two sprinklers we have set up for them. The band Coldplay plays in the background on the outdoor speaker. Kyle raises his arm high and with the vibrato of Pavoratti he sings, “Lights will guide you home.” Eli gleefully jumps through the water. 

Soon Kyle is throwing paint on 11 x 17” papers we have nailed to a tree for both boys, Eli becomes distracted and asks for a popsicle. 

“Mommy, can I have a popsicle?” 

“Of course.” 

He giggles. Eli’s deep scratchy, little boy laugh fills my heart in a way I never knew was possible. The boys eat their popsicles and Kyle, now covered head to toe in watercolors, quickly returns to his painting. I am transfixed with his wonderful wide-armed gestures as he tells me all about his art, 

“Mom! See, it’s a dinosaur. He is flying. It’s a stegosaurus. Did you know stegosaurs are herbivores? Do you know what a herbivore is? That means they eat plants.”

Eli walks into the house. “Mom, I think I need to pee.” I let Kyle know I check on Eli. 

“Ok Mom. That’s a good idea.” 

Kyle bends over, grabs a bunch of blue paint and throws it at his painting. I walk into our house. 

“Eli. Eli. Where are you?” 

I don’t hear him. I find him on the side of the bed between the wall and the bed. He has taken a pillow with a bug print pillowcase from his bed and is resting on it with his arms crossed behind his head. His big crystal blue eyes are wide open. 

“Hey Eli, there you are. What are you doing?” 

“I’m thinking. Mommy, I like to think.” 

“Do you want to come back and paint?”

“I want to think a little bit more.” 

July 2025: On a whim, earlier this summer, Dave bought tickets to Alaska. Eli couldn’t make it due to his work schedule. Dave bought Kyle a ticket just in case he could. Kyle lives in Brooklyn, New York. This morning Kyle shared that he wouldn’t be able to come to Alaska. My heart cracked wide open and I did that thing I keep telling myself to do. 

“Don’t respond with your big feelings. Give yourself a minute to process.” 

I took a beat. While I was taking my beat, Eli walked upstairs and saw me crying. Eli is signing a contract on a house today. He has already started packing his things. Aside from leaving each summer for out of town jobs with Conservation Corps, Eli has lived at home during college. After finishing his summer internship, he officially graduates from the University of Utah in August. I could not be more proud. 

Eli noticed my tears and asked what was up. 

“You’re moving and we can’t seem to coordinate with Kyle. I am so proud of you, of both of you. You are taking the best next steps. I just love being your mom and,” 

Before I could finish, Eli filled in, “I bet. It’s hard for me too. I’ve lived here so long.”

“You are doing good things.” I responded. 

“Mom, I live so close. I am sure I will be here all the time.” His words carried me. 

I have never experienced greater joy than being a parent. Kyle and Eli are double rainbows after a storm. They are kind people who are doing amazing things. I want them to continue to fly and follow their bliss. I also miss the days of watching them run around the back yard, jumping through sprinklers, eating popsicles and listening to Coldplay.