One year + one day

It's crazy, in all of my anxiety and anticipation of Miles' upcoming first birthday, I kind-of forgot that life would go on after that day.  It felt like my world would end on that day, and all of my energy for the last several weeks was focused on surviving, on getting through reliving that April Fool's Day (how's that for cruel irony) when I first held my son and had so much hope for him. And now here I am, one day later.  I survived.  The world didn't end.  In a weird way it feels like the day after Armageddon, like I survived something that I wasn't supposed to make it through.  Crazy, I know, but a surreal feeling.  I woke up this morning devoid of purpose, not sure what my plan was for the week, for the day, even for the first hour of the day.  I literally hadn't planned anything past April 1st.  Nothing.  I tried to, but I couldn't commit to anything, couldn't see past that day, I honestly wasn't sure I would be able to function.  But I am, and it wasn't as bad as I had thought it would be.  And now I have to figure out where to go from here.  I have 364 days to prepare for the next one, I guess.  But somehow the next time around doesn't seem as unbearable.  His birthday will always be hard, but I survived the first one, and I have one year minus one day for time to work it's magic and heal my heart a little more before his next birthday.  Each year, each birthday, brings me closer to the day when I will see him again.  And each one will have a day after, a new day to refocus and better myself and my life so that he will be proud to call me his mother someday.  So here I am, one year plus one day after my world fell apart, and still I am holding it together.  I may not have a plan for the day yet, but holding it together counts for something, right?