One is the loneliest number

Over the last two years, I've been in contact with fairly countless numbers people who are beginning their HIE journey as a family. Amongst the most common questions people ask is, when does it get better?

The pain, the anxiety, the guilt. The fallout from the moment their lives changed forever.

Because make no mistake, even if your child, like Sophie, escapes this injury without any long-term effects, as parents, as a family, you *are* changed forever. Anyone who's been there knows what I'm talking about.

I've been telling people for the last year that Sophie's first birthday was a cathartic point for us. A defining set of moments that put us through the wringer and back-

This time last year, I realised she'd stopped moving.
This time last year, I was in the operating theatre.
This time last year, Sophie was on the RFDS plane.
This day last year, we got the results of the MRI, telling us her brain damage was severe.

And after we went past all those milestones, things felt different somehow. As if it wasn't enough to live through them once; at the time, all was confusion and coping. A year later, given hindsight, introspection, investigation, hours of worrying and fussing, it almost had more impact. As if we could see our old selves falling unknowingly from happiness toward despair, and we couldn't do anything to stop it.

When they all passed, there was a sense of having dealt with it in a much more thorough way.

Yesterday was the second anniversary of Sophie's due date. This time last year, I was thinking about how this time the year before, all had still been well.

This year? Well... it's in the past. Really in the past. I forgot about it, completely.

On Sunday, when she turns two- everything that happened on that day last year was lovely. We had a party at the zoo. Our friends and family came and celebrated. We laughed and cried and ate cake. We talked to elephants and penguins.

This time last year, we were at a point in our journey where the road was no longer unclear. Perhaps not totally known, but not quite so terrifying, either.

The fear, the anger, the sadness- it's really gone. After one year, the pain wasn't as sharp. After two years, it doesn't exist.

I got Sophie's notice of impending discharge from the paediatric development program yesterday. It's almost over for us. Not everyone gets so lucky, but for us, two years has been the period of time we needed to really, truly heal.

And what that allows us to do is put our attention from now on toward helping others.