I first met Scott in August of 1999, during my freshman year at Southern Nazarene University, just outside Oklahoma City. He was a few years older than me, tall, athletic, and effortlessly charming. He played basketball, had a sense of humor that could make anyone laugh, and had this warm, magnetic energy that drew people in. I was instantly curious about him. Over the years, we became part of the same friend circle. I have countless memories from those college days—playing horseshoes and croquet, fishing by a friend’s pond, or visiting a horse ranch. Scott had a way of lighting up every room he entered, and he was always kind to everyone around him.
After college, I moved to Texas to begin my teaching career, and Scott joined the Marines. Life whisked me off to Austin, Dallas/Fort Worth, Denver, and Nashville, sprinkling in various trips to Africa and the Middle East. Scott served until a knee injury led him out of the military and then went on to teach at several universities after earning his master’s degree. Our lives forked, but I never forgot that connection between us. Our bond lingered no matter the distance is.
In 2017, while on a planning break in my kindergarten classroom in Nashville, a Facebook message from Scott popped up. We hadn’t spoken in years, but our casual conversation quickly deepened. Over months of messaging and texting, we shared our pasts, our dreams, our beliefs, and our families. When I came home for Christmas break, we decided to meet halfway in Tulsa. What was meant to be a short lunch turned into a ten-hour date. I knew from the moment I saw him that something special was unfolding. He was nervous, excited, fully captivated by the moment, and I was too. And I could not stop smiling that whole day.
Several months later, Scott proposed. We married on September 1, 2018, in the church where he grew up and celebrated at a farm we had just bought together. Our days were full teaching, tending a little menagerie of animals, gardening, growing. And I even started a small pie business to keep the weekends busy with farmers markets. I felt that everyday was feeling like a new adventure.
We dreamed of starting a family early in our marriage, but after a year of trying, our hopes dimmed. After tests and procedures, doctors told us IVF was our only real option. We accepted the challenge and traveled to Barbados for treatment. The first round gave us one healthy embryo, and a second round followed with the support of my mom, as Scott couldn’t travel.
February 2020 was the darkest month of my life. While I waited in Toronto, waiting for a way home, word came in that Scott had seizure and heart attack in class. He was in the ICU, unresponsive, and placed in a medically induced coma. My husband-the love of my life, only 41 years old-was gone by the 21st. we stay hopeful everyday we keep each other happy.
Grief became my traveling companion as I set about funeral plans, the selling of our farm, finding a new home and job, and the physical aftermath of IVF-all in the midst of Covid’s early days. In the midst of heartbreak, hope still lingered: our frozen embryos from Barbados offered a chance to continue our dream of a family.
Six months after Scott’s death, I returned to Barbados for the embryo transfer. On September 7, 2020, I took a pregnancy test, praying for a miracle. When two pink lines appeared, I ran to my mom, crying tears of joy and relief. That moment marked the beginning of new life and a renewed sense of purpose. On May 3, 2021, I gave birth to our son, Hayes Philip-Scott Shellenberger, a healthy 8 lb 5 oz baby boy.
Looking at his bright blue eyes, so much like his dad’s, I am reminded daily of God’s grace and the love Scott and I shared. I have no idea what the future is going to bring for Hayes and me, but I do have faith. I pray that he will be healthy and happy and surrounded by positive role models. I’m doing everything I can to be the best mom I can be, living strong and fully present for him. And I trust god plan for us.
This August 2022, I will be heading back to Barbados to transfer our second embryo, so one day Hayes will hopefully have a sibling. I’ve learned through grief and joy, in struggle and in triumph, that community is everything. My story is not over yet, and even though I’ve experienced some profound losses, I am also surrounded by love, hope, and the promise of new beginnings.
