A year ago today, Lily's heart stopped beating, and the rest of our lives changed.
This morning, Ryan dropped me off at the edge of Central Park, and I walked to work, enjoying signs of the season I missed last year. And thinking about that ultrasound appointment. Thinking about Ryan, Katelyn, my parents.
My parents flew in to support us after we lost the baby, before we knew I was sick. That's just how they are. Always there for us. I know they made several trips in the weeks that followed my diagnosis. I don't know how many. I have blurred memories of them sitting next to my hospital bed. I wish they'd been walking through Central Park with me this morning, though at least I will see them tonight.
Today is the first in a series of one-year anniversaries. Sunday will mark one year since a doctor first told me something was wrong with my blood. Next Saturday will be one year since my diagnosis. Each of these one-year anniversaries will stir traumatic flashbacks, but also good memories.
