I have the same Christmas wish as I’ve had for the past ten years.
I would like to receive an email from you.
To know who you are.
Where you come from.
Why you read my blog.
What my blog means to you.
Has it helped you in any way?
I promise I will not publish your email or misuse it in any way.
And I promise to write back!
My email: klara.soncek (at) gmail.com
I’m looking forward to Christmas :)
PS: In the photo: Brixen/Bressanone, Bozen/Bolzano
I returned from another work trip, this time to the beautiful region in northern Italy, Südtirol / Trentino–Alto Adige. I was traveling with a coworker a few years younger than I am, and we talked about many things. It turned out that we both used to love watching Dr. Gregory House. She told me her favourite quote of his:
“People don’t get what they deserve. They just get what they get. There’s nothing any of us can do about it.”
So very true.
What we can do, however, is fill our days—whenever the occasion appears—with something special. Like eating the most delicious Apfelstrudel you can imagine.
We spent an amazing road trip with Pamela and her husband in October. I’m sharing a few photos from the Pula Roman Amphitheatre and from Rovinj, Croatia.
It’s just wonderful to be with friends who truly get you — who understand without words and would never say anything that could hurt. There’s such comfort in that kind of connection, where you can simply be yourself and feel completely at ease.
Travelling together reminded me how precious it is to have people in your life who share not just experiences, but understanding — the quiet kind that comes from having walked a similar path.
*****
I’m sharing Pamela’s latest interview. I feel honoured to be mentioned in it.
https://www.populationbalance.org/beyond-pronatalism-podcast/pamela
We’ve got everything ready for our friends who are coming to stay with us for a few days.
Fresh vegetables from the garden are picked, and I’ve baked a (hopefully) delicious traditional walnut potica.
It’s such a joy when penfriends from our life-after-infertility community turn into real friends.
Just priceless!
I enjoyed picking mirabelle plums for a friend of mine; I have known her since we were seven. She loves them.
She has an autoimmune disease and has already lost the ability to walk and move her hands.
I visited her yesterday, and we were talking about all the exciting road trips we took together (with two other friends) in our late teens and twenties. She said that all those memories help her get through her long days – she visualises the things we did together.
She often says to me and our other two friends: “Girls, you must walk as much as you can! Walk also for me.”
I have learnt so much from her. And I am grateful that I can, in small ways, brighten her moments and bring a little joy to her days.
I’ve been feeling unwell throughout July, so I’ve spent quite a bit of time in doctors’ waiting rooms. It’s nothing too serious – just a virus and a viral eye infection. But still, once again, I was reminded of the one thing I truly need: health.
Yesterday, while waiting for a medical examination, I was reading a book when I overheard two women in their early seventies. They had gone to school together and hadn’t seen each other in a decade. I wasn’t intentionally listening, but one of them was speaking so loudly that I couldn’t help but hear parts of their conversation.
One of the women had sadly lost her husband three years ago. The other asked her about his illness and how long it had been since he passed. The widow’s voice was filled with sorrow – I could feel that he had meant the world to her.
Immediately, the other woman began offering advice: “You have to be strong. You need to find new activities to fill your days. You must keep busy.”
She then asked how many children and grandchildren she had. (The answer was two and four.)
And with that, she concluded: “Oh, that’s good. That means you’re busy.”
But who knows? Her children may live far away, busy with their own lives, while she sits alone with her grief.
It made me think about the profound lessons infertility, suffering, and countless thoughtless comments have taught me over the years.
That sometimes, the most precious thing you can say is simply:
“I’m so sorry for your loss. I can only imagine how hard this must be.”
P.S. In the photo: I picked some early white apples from my husband’s family garden, and a few early red apples were a gift from my granny. I turned them into the most delicious apple and cinnamon jam you can imagine.
I visited my granny yesterday. My uncle and his wife happened to come by as well. It felt good, at first — being with family, chatting about summer plans, soaking in the warmth of familiar company.
Then, without warning, my uncle began to speak about their seaside holiday. “It was wonderful,” he said, beaming. “Especially because we brought the granddaughters along. A husband and wife on their own — that’s just not enough. You need grandchildren to truly enjoy the holidays.”
His words were matter-of-fact, cheerful. His wife chimed in, eager to recount all the joyful things they had done with the little ones — the laughter, the games, the simple happiness.
And me?
I did nothing.
I sat in silence, struck by the sheer thoughtlessness of it all. How wrapped up people can be in their own joys, blind to the quiet sorrows seated right beside them. How carelessly words can fall, without the faintest thought of who might be catching them.
I’ve always believed in thinking before speaking. Sadly, many seem to prefer the opposite.
It’s been 24 hours. The remark still lingers — like an echo that won’t fade.
What helps me now is this:
a) Writing it down.
b) Holding onto a happy memory. I want to share one of mine with you — a beautiful Matsumoto castle. More info: https://www.matsumoto-castle.jp/eng
How I loved travelling through Japan. How we both did — my husband and I.
No children. Just us. And it was more than enough.
