Yes, I am a statistic. I am also incredibly blessed to have a loving husband, a wonderful family, and internal fortitude. I chose not to be broken by the tragedy that befell us. It was a difficult choice, but it was the only one for me. As they say, the only way out is through.
Recently, a woman who is more in tune with the things we cannot see around us did a reading for me. I was suffering from a creative block, not surprisingly whilst writing this book. Fear, most likely, of putting too much of myself out in the world.
Knowing absolutely nothing of my background, my private life, my interior life, my struggles with infertility, she said that when she envisioned me, I was surrounded by small sparks of light. They danced around me. She thought they were beautiful, these invisible fireflies of hope.
Eventually, that woman became a friend, and I felt close enough to her to share my journey. She clapped her hands and said, “Oh! That’s what those lights are. The souls of your babies. They surround you with joy and happiness. They’re with you, always.”
And so they are. In this world, and the next.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I normally start an acknowledgment with a list of people who’ve bolstered my path in writing a book, ending with my husband of many years. But this time I’m starting with Randy. This is his story as much as mine, and if he hadn’t encouraged me to find a place for the anecdotes that plagued our fertility journey, both the horror and the hilarity, I might never have found my way through, much less have discovered Olivia. He has been my rock for three decades, but never more so than during the trials and tribulations of both trying to have children and the writing of this book. There were days when it was just too much, and he was always there, arms open, silent, strong, and steady. I would be nothing without you, my darling. Thank you for showing me the joy on the other side. And for not being a vampire.
On to the rest. My deepest thanks to the following:
My darling agent Laura Blake Peterson, who pushed me out of my comfort zone and believed I could fly, who gave love, support, encouragement, and ass kicking as needed. Her gasp of excitement when I pitched this idea will live on in my mind forever.
Jeremy Finley, who happily sacrificed his precious time to talk me through the reporter parts. Any mistakes are my own.
Will Osley, for great care with our move（s） and insisting on being a heroic cowboy detective. I hope Osley is exactly what you wanted, and thank you for letting me take liberties with his character for the story.
Mel Osley, for the enthusiastic book discourse and screenwriting chats.
Andrea Baynham, for showing me the stars, then showing me my power.
Connie Gerhman, for the tour of Chapel Hill that made a lasting impression.
Courtney Breslin, formerly my producer at WNPT, for sharing how a documentary should be structured. Again, all mistakes are my own.
Laura Benedict, whose shoulder was cried upon more than once, and who listened, scolded, encouraged, plotted, and supported, endlessly, for all the things, then and now.
Ariel Lawhon, structural dynamo, cheerleader, Wordle partner, permanent queso date, and plotting genius, for, hell, all of it.
Patti Callahan Henry, who was the first one to LOVE this title and is a strategic creative queen.
Paige Crutcher, who lived through so much of this with me, held me when I wept, and gave me the gift of yoga to heal my troubled soul.
The Porch: Paige Crutcher, Helen Ellis, Lisa Patton, Anne Bogel, Mary Beth Whalen, Ariel Lawhon, Laura Benedict, and Patti Callahan Henry, for holding me up when I didn’t think I could pull this off, for quarterly write-ins and in-person dates, for the laughs, the tears, and the creative synergies of an incredible group of brilliant women with whom I am honored to share the rarefied air.
My fellow scribes, sounding boards, and brainstormers Lisa Unger, Kerry Lonsdale, Kaira Rouda, Danielle Girard, Hank Phillipi Ryan, Jayne Ann Krentz, Catherine Coulter, Allison Brennan, Barbara Peters, and John McDougall: I couldn’t do this without y’all!
Dr. Wills Oglesby, for patching up Olivia—and me! And my indefatigable buddy Bob Smodic in PT for the healing hands. And ice. So. Much. Ice.
Designer Kelly Wearstler, whose incredible Masterclass influenced Olivia’s own designs.
Rachel Perez, and the whole team at Aurora Publicity, for oodles upon oodles of support, and the magnificent Trello Boards.
My editor, Nicole Brebner, who understood immediately when I said, “This one is different.” She championed the story in-house and made it what it was meant to be.
My publisher, Margaret Marbury, for the brainstorming session that landed us on the right path, at last.
My publicist, Emer Flounders, who grounds me, saves me, and finds me all the best people to talk to.
The entire MIRA team, who do so much to get my stories into your hands. From art to PR to marketing to sales: the list is endless, the people fabulous, and the efforts on my behalf so much appreciated. My long-time art director Sean Kapitan needs a special shout-out for nailing the incredible cover art.
My DNA family, those constant supporters who act as sounding boards, listen to me complain, make all kinds of suggestions, read all the early drafts, and put up with me day and night. Sorry to always call during dinner. And my sweet in-laws, who are always cheering behind the scenes.
Jeanne, Clive, and the Unknown Screenwriter, for suggesting that maybe I write our experience as a short story, and then we’d see what happened…
The librarians, booksellers, Instagrammers, Twitterers, TikTokers, Facebookers, and lovely readers—without y’all, I’d be writing into the void.
For the incredibly talented writing community that I am honored to be a part of—your works challenge me to be a better writer. Thank you for hours upon hours of entertainment, support, enlightenment, and inspiration, for writing books that make me strive to be better, on all accounts.
Thank you, all, from the bottom of my heart.