A year ago, I gave birth via emergency c-section to my firstborn child, a beautiful baby boy, 1 lb 4 and a half ounces, 11 and a half inches long, with his daddy's blue eyes and flat feet, and my chin and fingers. He was perfectly formed, right down to the tiny fingernails and eyelashes that simply amazed me.

Casey James...born too soon at just barely 28 weeks along, my pregnancy had been perfect. It seems as incomprehensible to me today as it did on the day we learned he was going to join us in this world. How could this have happened to us? I remember so clearly the first moment that I saw him...laying on his warming bed...so small, so beautiful. I knew that night that he would not be one of the "miracle babies" that everyone talks about.

The part I feel so bad about is that for months beforehand, I had struggled with the idea of being totally responsible for another human being, wondered if I was really ready to give up so many of my own personal freedoms and give over my time and energy and heart to this little stranger who bruised the insides of my ribs with his kicks and kept me up all night with heartburn. I loved my baby, and looked forward to motherhood, but still had that nagging doubt inside of me, and secretly wondered if I hadn't made some terrible mistake. But as soon as I saw him laying there, and I held my baby, my son, in my arms I knew beyond any doubt that I would give anything, do anything to protect this boy for the rest of his life. I couldn't protect him in the safest place in the world, and when I finally realized how ready I was for him, he was already gone. The bitter irony of that moment will live inside me forever. My son broke my heart that day, he broke my heart open, to a love more primal and fierce than I could ever have imagined, and a grief so overwhelming I thought it would swallow me whole. A year later, I still don't have the words to describe the time that followed, the mind-shattering pain that stretched a day into eternity. The terrifying rage that could overtake me at any minute and the prayer I said each night, "Please God, don't let me wake up in the morning." I was slowly learning how to walk through the world and function and smile while I wept ceaselessly inside. Anyone who has lost a child knows exactly what I mean without me saying it, and no one who hasn't can begin to imagine it no matter how many words I use. It was the darkest place I have ever been, and I pray I never find myself there again.

A year later, I am slowly re-entering the light. The pain of my son's death is less stabbing, and the memories of his life more(bitter)sweet. Grief attacks flatten me less often, and I can go weeks without tears. I am, impossible as it once seemed, healing, and can even see a time when losing Casey is less of a life-stopping tragedy and more a painful part of the story of my life. I even have another much-loved baby boy squirming in my belly, who kicks me awake at night and helps sustain my hope for the future. But nothing will ever erase the death of my first son, and no future child will ever replace him. The death of a child means the death of a part of your soul, and the loss is as eternal as the tomb. Even when I laugh, and mean it, a place in my heart is always crying, and at the center of even the sweetest joy, there will always be that small, aching emptiness of what should have been.

A year ago...I did not think that I could survive the death of my son, and there were many times when I did not want to. Survive I have, but certainly not through my strength alone. Never in my life have I needed my friends and family more, or relied more upon the strength and love of others to carry me through the difficult times. So for Casey's first birthday, I want to take the time not only to remember him, but also to acknowledge the many people I am grateful to for making sure I made it through this year. I am grateful, first and foremost, for my wonderful husband, without whom I know I would not have made it. You are, as always, the rock that gets me through...the other half of who I am. Thank you for the tremendous courage you have shown in openly grieving for our son, and for being strong enough to share your weaknesses with me. I am grateful for my loving family, who have never forgotten Casey James or hurried my grief and who have proven in word and deed that they will always remember my son. Knowing that you will always include Casey as the member of the family that he is brings me more comfort than I can say.

I am grateful for the nurses and doctors who worked so hard to make Casey's life a beautiful memory for us, and who have shown such compassion and sensitivity throughout this subsequent pregnancy. I feel incredibly blessed to have found some of the true caregivers in the medical profession.

I am grateful for the friends, old and new, who have been there for me in countless ways, big and small. You have given me so many gifts...allowing me the time and space to be a crazy as I need to be, accepting both my tears and laughter, and most of all, always being willing to talk about my son. I'm just sorry that it has taken such a tragedy to make me recognize what a rich blessing you are in my life.

I am extremely grateful for the wonderful women at MISS who have become my lifeline through some of the most difficult days, who listened to my pain, and shared their own with me. Even when I wasn't posting much, just knowing that you were always there if I needed you gave me the strength to get through. Thank you, thank you, for sharing the burden of this pain, and for always reminding me that I wasn't alone.

I am grateful, too, for the women in real life who shared their own similar losses with me. Your face-to-face presence and real life hugs are always a comfort to me, and I never feel more normal or understood than when I am with you. And I have to give special thanks to Kelly, Jenny and Christi, who understand so well how we can laugh our way through our heartache. I love you.

I am grateful for everyone, near and far, who has given me so much strength and support this year. You may never realize how much your kind word, or card, or hug, or prayer meant to me, but I will always remember it. By carrying me in your heart and prayers you have carried me, and I can never repay your kindness.

And most of all, I am grateful to my son, Casey James, who taught me more about life and love and loss in the seven short days that I held him than I had learned in the 28 years before that. The joy of holding you in my arms far outweighs the pain of losing you, and I will never regret having you in my life. No matter how many children I have, you will always be my firstborn, the boy who made me a mother. I miss you, sweet baby boy, and will carry you in my heart, forever.