Last February I was numb. Numb in a way that was difficult to understand. One day stands out in my memory, standing in the bitter cold - outside the end of January, beginning of February. I am talking to a colleague. The conversation stretches on before he realizes that I am standing in short sleeves, the wind biting the skin on my arms. The pain hurts so good. There is a temptation to lay down in the snow and to let the pain take over my entire body, to numb the pain in my heart and my brain. He sends me inside and I reluctantly leave the conversation, and as I am walking away I realize that it feels good to have my discomfort recognized even though he thinks it is caused by the cold, and it is not. Exhale. It is February 2012 and joy has found me in the form of a newborn son. Pregnant three times in a year I have bid farewell to a baby girl, I have grieved what was coined a therapeutic abortion and I have endured what seemed like the most anxiety ridden pregnancy ever. I have spent time hating my body and all that it has killed, and now it has produced a son, Nicholas, a name that means victory. Inhale. I celebrate my ability to endure, to remain standing. I celebrate my body and the two sons that it has given me, I celebrate the miracles of life, and as I am moved daily by my blessings, the tears inexplicably appear as well. That it would seem joy and sadness enter through the same door; and as I have allowed myself to open my heart and head to joy; the sadness slips through in its shadow. I look ahead to enjoying my family, my husband my sons. I look ahead to taking better care of myself, of returning to the woman I was before this journey. I am not sure if I am improved, but I am certainly changed. No matter, it is victory in my heart and in my head now. It is victory in my arms.