I now measure my life in fiscal years.  No longer is January the month of reflection.  No longer will I spend the time after Christmas reviewing the joys and pains of the year past.  June 29th is the day in which I will turn over my years and measure my time.

This little man:

is one year old today.

Before his birth, I don’t think I ever fully realized the tenousness of life or the transitory sadness of time.  I never understood the desire to freeze a moment for eternity.  Now I wish I could hold him in the sweet innocence of babyhood against my heart forever.  While I rejoice at each little victory as he moves forward to seize his moment in the world, I mourn that each tiny step declares his independence from the delicate oneness that we formed in the earliest days of his life.  I love him with a depth and a breadth that transcends any measure of unconditional love I ever imagined.  Each year I will count grudgingly and joyfully against the time I will have to spend on this earth watching him grow.  It will never be enough.

The profundity of that realization has served as a beacon during the darkest times of the year since his birth.  By fixing my gaze on his future with single-minded intensity, I was able to navigate through my mother’s cancer, the loss to Katrina of my home and the tangible memories of my past, the agonizing months on the road and ultimately our permanent displacement and my complete change of career and lifestyle.  His blissful ignorance and the simplicity of his needs placed the trappings of my loss in sharp perspective.  We learn from our children far more than we can ever hope to teach them in return. 

Welcome to Year One, A.H.  – After Hieronymus.