For weeks now, I’ve been writing emails for work, starting every single one with “Happy New Year” or “Wishing you a happy New Year.” It feels like the right thing to say, but honestly, it’s so hard to imagine what a “happy” new year even looks like right now.

At the start of 2024, I was filled with hope. After years of loss, challenges, and heartbreak, I was finally pregnant with our rainbow baby—a son. Evie’s little brother. Every checkup brought incredible news, and even though I started the pregnancy anxious, I began to let myself believe in the joy and the miracle of what was happening.

But then, everything changed. Benji was born at just 23 weeks, weighing less than a pound. He was so tiny but so strong, and he fought hard to give us the gift of time with him. I will always treasure those precious moments—holding him, feeding him, changing his diaper, and telling him how deeply he was loved. And then, on March 10, just four days after he came into our lives, he was gone.

The rest of this year has been a blur of love and loss, grief and healing, joy and pain. When Benji passed, so many people told me that grief would shift over time—that it wouldn’t always feel like this, raw and constant. And while that’s true in some ways, they also said it would return in waves, unexpected and overwhelming.

That’s exactly how I feel tonight, sitting here on December 31. I cried harder today than I have in months, like I was back at the very beginning of this journey. All I can think about is how 2024 will always be the year Benji was born and the year he died—the year that changed my life forever.

And yet, in the midst of this tragedy and grief I am so incredibly grateful for Ilan, for Evie, and for our entire extended family and “framily.” You’ve been with me every step of the way, holding me up when I didn’t think I could stand, surrounding me with love, and helping me find light in even the darkest moments.

I love you, my sweet boy. My beautiful, beautiful boy. Please keep visiting us, our little bluebird.