In some ways, I’m lucky. April 28 does not fall on a holiday. It’s not my birthday or close to it. I don’t have Christmas or Thanksgiving affected by a sad anniversary. At one time, it was very close to my wedding anniversary, but even that has gone away.

So April 28 stands on its own. It gets its own treatment. Its own quiet space. I do each day on this year the things I always do. Work on the web site. Go through Casey’s box.

This is one of the years I planned for ahead of time. I actually have delayed my next book to tackle a big project, the complete redesign of this web site. It’s a thing of beauty on a cell phone, nothing but big clear text boxes of questions that I know you have. It’s still a long way from being done, but the pages that get searched and clicked on the most are easy to spot on the home page. The others are still available in the old format, waiting for me to get to them.

I updated the pages about my children, Casey and Emily and Elizabeth and her twin. And this year, I finally managed to get Casey’s sonogram digitized so it will never be lost. It was a big moment of trust, handing over that VHS tape to a stranger, knowing it was all I had, the only proof that his heart beat, that he moved around.

But I know that I need no proof that he lived. That’s here, every day, in all the people who come for information and help. Moms who land on the pages, who join the private group, and who leave their stories. You are all the reminders that, yes, Casey was a person, and that he has had an impact on this world.

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