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I always say that I’m not an anniversaries kind of person, but I think that’s changing as I get older.

Milestones seem to creep up more often now than they used to, which is contrary to how I figured life was supposed to work. Shouldn’t all the big stuff happen when you’re a kid?

I guess not.

Because I think it’s happening now.

Granted, I won’t grow another inch or lose a tooth or have my first kiss again or graduate from anything but ‘combination skin’ to ‘anti-wrinkle’ moisturizer, but my heart is changing in ways that I barely know how to express.

How do you explain letting go?

How do you explain changing your dreams?

How do you explain the battle to keep your heart from freezing over when storms pass through?

I’m not sure.

As far as I know, you just do. And you do. And you do. And then you try and get some sleep.

One year ago today, I was diagnosed with infertility.

As a single woman.

As a woman who gravitates towards children like she gravitates towards light.

It was a gut punch, an irony, a wrench, a collision, a wall of sound.

I wrote about it at the time, and stated that my only mandate was to “just keep breathing.” And I have kept breathing, though sometimes it feels like there is a weight on my chest, fighting that instinct, leaving me gasping, leaving me empty.

It hasn’t been easy.

I was and am angry about it sometimes. I was and am despairing about it sometimes. I was and am embarrassed by it sometimes.

But more than anything else, I have come to learn three things:

1. I will not be defined by my inabilities for another second.

2. My destiny as a mother remains as solid as it ever was.

3. Anything good about me is a direct result of the love that has been poured into my life by my family and friends.

I struggled with how I saw myself long before I heard that one more piece of the puzzle was out of place, truth be told. I still have fractured friendships and regrets that I don’t know how to deal with, and I still don’t make perfect choices all the time.

Or ever.

This thing was big, though. This changed me.

This turned me from someone who took linear journeys for granted to someone committed to seeing beauty in the twist of a path. Committed not because I always manage to see it, but because I will see it. I will.

There is no other option.

I don’t know what will happen. I don’t know if there will be miracles. I don’t know where my life goes from here. I don’t know what direction my health will go in from here. I don’t know how love and family and being will take shape for me.

What I do know is that in the midst of all things impossible, my biggest comfort has been gratitude.

And so:

To my mom and dad, thank you for believing in my future with a ferocity that comes from true love. When I think about how much it hurts you when I’m hurting, I feel terrible.

But then I remember how you feel when I bump up against joy or success, and I know that the good ahead will make up for all of this soon enough. I love you with all my heart, and know no greater thing on earth than the love I get from the two of you.

To my brother, who cried, I know. You would save me from everything bad in the world. This is clear. And you can’t, but your desire to try makes you pretty amazing. I love you, and I am so excited that you and Carey are starting on a journey of your own.

To my extended family — who reacted in a million different ways, all of them understandable — don’t worry… I’ll bring a child into this chaos that I’ll have to train not to walk into practical jokes or get food stolen from their plates or get beaten to death playing Rummoli.

To Catherine and Kerry, who were my roommates when the bomb first dropped. You were always there. I love you both.

And Kerry, you are one of the most compassionate listeners I have ever known. You showed me how to stay soft.

To Kristy, the once-and-satellite roommate, and Jeff, He Who Was Engaged To Kerry and Then Married Her and Took Her Away, you guys were great delights and distractions when you would come through that horrid, moldy place we used to live in.

Kris, love you, girl. When you came into town, I could always count on you to dance with me and go for coffee when I was sad.

To ALL my friends who have rushed in to love me, how do I even thank you? Half of you had barely heard from me before all of this, and have barely heard from me since. I regret that so much… I can’t even tell you. But you LOVE me. Wow, do you love me. I haven’t earned it, but I am blessed. There are too many of you to mention, but you know exactly who you are.

And to Jenn, whose baby (Edmund) was the first one I held after all hell broke loose… you brought me back into the moment from my sad little place. I will forever be grateful. For you, and for your love.

To my friends at work who gave me the room to experience things… thank you. You are totally loved and appreciated, and with more than just Friday Thai or morning coffee or Desk Candy. You should all be so lucky to work with Tara, Christina, Johanna, all the Robs, Theresa, all the Elizabeths, Liberty, Mitch, Jennifer, Curtis, Shannon, Coralynn and everyone else.

To the wee chunk of the internet that comes here, many of whom have become sweet and devoted friends, thank you for reading my words about this for the past year. I have been sad, I have been angry, I have been wry, and yet? You take it all in, and offer back only encouragement and perspective. Take a look at my “Sweet Reads” up there if you want a sense of who these amazing people are. I appreciate all of you.

Eric, Nance, Chuck, Patia, Mark, Karen, Birdie, Monty, both my Lizzes, JenB, all the Ashleys, Barbie, NotSoccer, Wood and Dutch, Rick, Phil, Dick and everyone else… wow. What an honour.

And Eric? You are a rare and amazing friend. I’m blessed. Who meets kindred spirits on the internet? That’s weird.

Finally, Catherine again. Girl, you have spent more time with me than anyone else in the past year of my life — whether hanging around our perfect apartment or taking road trips or teasing Dean (ACCCCTIC CHAAA! NETMINDER!) — and have had to experience more of my ups and downs than anyone else.

If I was ever tempted to lose faith in God’s provision in my life, all I have to do is look at my roommate, who loves me about as unconditionally as anyone ever could. I’m not easy to be around all the time, but you have stuck by me. I love you. What more can be said? You’re my hetero lifemate forever and always.

And:

To my future husband, whenever you show up: we’ll make it work. I really believe that now. I was scared to hope before. Now I don’t have much doubt in my mind that any man I’d choose would do nothing less. I love you as a forethought and as a promise.

And, finally:

To my future kids, ha ha! You are so stuck with Mommy.

You couldn’t get away if you tried.