You think you will never feel happy again. You think your days will always be gray and you will always have an achy heart. You think you will never be able to get over the pain. But you do…. and you don’t.

How do I feel nearly a year after losing my son? Changed.

There is not one specific emotion—or set of emotions—that can describe how I have been feeling this past year. When I first lost Noah, the grief of losing him painted every single area of my life. All my energy, thoughts and feelings were focused on the pain of not having him. As a blessing, and a curse, time moves on. Like they say, the only way out is through it, and this could not be any more true than with grief.

A lot has happened this past year. All because of Noah.

As I shared before, I decided to have surgery. This surgery changed my life. We decided to sell our first townhouse and move to a better, bigger house. In a way, Noah got us the house. We decided to share our story with the sellers, and they immediately decided they didn’t want to show the house to anyone else. The house, our dream house, was ours.

In the midst of moving, renovating, planning and dreaming, I took a moment to sit and remember where we were a year ago. Today, exactly a year ago, we were anxiously waiting in a doctor’s office to see our baby and confirm our pregnancy. A year ago, was easily, one of the happiest days of our lives. And my heart aches today.

My heart aches when I attend my niece’s birthday party and see all the kids running, and know there is one four-month-old missing. People tell me one day I will be holding my baby. What they don’t know is that, although that might be true, nothing changes the fact that there will always be a baby missing. Noah will always be missing from our lives, this will not change, ever.

So those days are hard. When I see my friends’ babies growing and I remember my Noah never had a chance. When my arms are empty, when people ask when we are going to have kids. When I see my 30th birthday around the corner and I am still (in the eyes of the world) “childless”. When I push a baby’s stroller that is not mine. My heart aches and my eyes cry.

But then I see where I am today. How losing Noah has changed my perspective in life. How I am more grounded in my faith than I have ever been in my life (although I still have a long way to go). How I have learned to not sweat the small stuff. How I see life—and death and grief—in such a different light. How I am not afraid to change (church, house, neighborhood). How my marriage is stronger than ever, and our family bonds have just gotten tighter. And my heart is joyful. Because I am proud of having survived this year, and how it has been—by the grace of God—the most significant year of my life.

What I have learned is that joy and sorrow can exist in the same place—they need to be side by side. You can feel extreme grief for what happened, and yet be extremely grateful and joyful for what that loss brought into your life.

When I lost Noah, all my world was painted dark. As life moved forward, my world grew, so the dark area became smaller and smaller. Will it ever go away? Never. But your heart gets stronger. Stronger to feel pain and cry when it needs to, and stronger to feel joy.

I may not talk as much about my loss as I used to. Even though I will never deny Noah, I am even okay with answering “no” during a small talk conversation when people ask us if we have kids. I am even starting to dream of trying again for another baby. But one thing will never change: I will never forget Noah. I will always know how old he would have been, I will always wonder how he would have looked like as a fully grown baby, and a toddler, a teenager, and an adult. He will always be my firstborn. I will never stop loving him.

So if you are experiencing the unthinkable. If you are one in four. I know your world is painted dark. And that is okay. And guess what? It will never go away. Every person is different, and I know how blessed I am for my support system. But just know you are capable of feeling joy again. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But you are. Your world will grow and the darkness will seem smaller. And your love for your child, will always, always, remain.