In August of 1999, I first met Scott. I was a freshman, just stepping onto the campus of Southern Nazarene University, just outside Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, full of excitement and nerves. Scott was a few years older, and I remember thinking immediately how striking he was—tall, athletic from playing college basketball, incredibly handsome, and effortlessly funny. As I navigated the early weeks of college life, making friends and learning my way around, Scott naturally became part of my circle. We didn’t know each other deeply at first, but over the years we shared countless moments with the same group of friends. I remember hours spent playing horseshoes and croquet, fishing, hanging out by a friend’s pond, and visiting a horse ranch. Scott was always the life of the party, yet his kindness and generosity left a lasting impression on everyone around him.
After graduation, life took us in different directions. I moved to Texas to begin my teaching career, while Scott joined the Marines. Over the next few years, I bounced between Austin, Dallas/Fort Worth, Denver, and Nashville, with incredible opportunities to travel through Africa and the Middle East. Meanwhile, Scott’s military career came to an end due to a knee injury that required surgery, and he decided to pursue a master’s degree at the University of Oklahoma. He continued teaching Physical Sciences at both OU and Southern Nazarene University, eventually joining Southwestern Christian University. Even as our paths diverged geographically and professionally, I often thought of Scott and the memories we’d shared.
In 2017, while on a planning break in my kindergarten classroom in Nashville, I received a Facebook notification: Scott had messaged me. It had been years since we’d last connected, and I was both nervous and excited to see what he had been up to. What started as casual messages soon grew into long, heartfelt conversations. We shared stories about our pasts, our dreams, our values, and our families, discovering a depth in each other that had never existed before. After months of messaging and texting, we finally arranged to meet for lunch while I was home for Christmas break. We met halfway in Tulsa, and what was meant to be a quick lunch stretched into a ten-hour date filled with laughter, connection, and undeniable chemistry.
From the moment I saw Scott that day, I knew this was different. We were both nervous—Scott later admitted that he had excused himself ten minutes into our lunch just to splash water on his face and calm his nerves. That small, vulnerable moment has always stayed with me. Everyone deserves to be loved so wholly and so completely, and that was exactly how we felt about one another.
Several months and many trips back and forth between Oklahoma City and Nashville later, Scott proposed. We decided that after our wedding, I would move back to Oklahoma to build our life together. On September 1, 2018, we exchanged vows in the church where Scott had grown up, and celebrated with family and friends on the farm we had just bought together. Life on the farm was everything we dreamed it would be. We both balanced teaching careers—Scott in college, me in first grade—while nurturing our growing herd of animals, including dogs, a cat, a horse, a donkey, and even an indoor pig. I started a small pie business that kept us busy on weekends at local farmers’ markets, and together we tackled gardening and fixing up the farm.
Our biggest dream, however, was starting a family. We had hoped to have a baby early in our marriage, but after a year of trying without success, discouragement and fear crept in. Visits to a series of doctors, months of medicated cycles, procedures, and tests revealed that IVF was our only real path to grow our biological family. It was devastating to accept, but we resolved to move forward quickly, ready to do whatever it took.
We chose a clinic in Barbados and began our first round of IVF in December 2019, opting for genetic testing. One healthy embryo resulted, filling us with gratitude and hope. We returned for a second round in February, this time with my mom accompanying me since Scott couldn’t get time off work. Amidst doctor appointments and island sightseeing, I had my second retrieval, and we eagerly awaited the results.
On February 18, 2020, my mom and I prepared to leave Barbados for Toronto, stopping overnight before returning to the U.S. While waiting for our ride, I sat on the apartment porch, texting Scott about the IVF results. I promised I would call him when we landed, excited to finally be home. But when I arrived in Toronto later that evening, my phone flooded with texts and voicemails, including one from a coworker letting me know Scott and the student body were gathered in prayer. Confused and worried, I tried calling him—but reached only voicemail.
Fear gripped me as I called his mother, her voice trembling as she explained the unthinkable: Scott had suffered a seizure and heart attack while teaching, was unresponsive in the ER, and had been placed on life support in a medically-induced coma. I immediately changed our flight and flew to him. On February 19, I received the news that would shatter my world—my healthy, vibrant 41-year-old husband was not expected to survive. That night, instead of celebrating late Valentine’s Day together, I held his hand, sobbing through final goodbyes, signing organ donation forms, and trying to summon the courage to give permission to remove life support. On February 21, 2020, at 12:25 p.m., I lost the love of my life.
The following months were a whirlwind of grief, necessity, and resilience. I navigated funeral arrangements, selling our farm, finding a new home and job, and surviving on my teacher’s salary—all while recovering physically from IVF treatments and emotionally from the sudden loss of Scott, and doing so during a pandemic. Amid this chaos, I turned my focus to our frozen embryos in Barbados. One week after the funeral, I learned that one embryo from our second round had tested normal, giving us two chances to grow our family.
I promised Scott I would move forward. In August 2020, six months after his passing, I traveled to Barbados to complete the transfer of our embryo. Surrounded by friends, family, and countless prayers, the procedure was done on August 31. Days later, I anxiously awaited the results. On September 7, I knelt beside my bed, heart in my hands, praying to God and Scott. When I saw the two pink lines on the pregnancy test, disbelief and joy washed over me. I ran to my mom, tears streaming, exclaiming, “Mom—I’m pregnant!”
On May 3, 2021, I gave birth to our healthy son, Hayes Philip-Scott Shellenberger, weighing 8 lbs 5 oz. His blue eyes, chubby cheeks, and long limbs instantly filled the emptiness left by Scott’s passing. Each day with Hayes reminds me of God’s blessings and the love Scott and I shared. My journey through infertility and widowhood in my 30s has been heart-wrenching, yet full of hope and purpose.
Though I cannot predict the future, I trust God’s plan. I am grateful for the love and support of friends and family, praying each day for Hayes’ health, happiness, and understanding of his parents’ love. I pray for strength to parent him well, for role models to guide him, and for joy and purpose to fill our lives. I plan to return to Barbados in 2022 for our final embryo transfer, hoping Hayes will have a sibling to grow up with. I remain thankful for the community that has carried me through grief and infertility, finding purpose in pain and strength in love. Through it all, I continue to believe that even after unimaginable loss, hope, faith, and joy can flourish.
