I rang in the 2018 with one of my oldest friends. Five months later, as a ceiling of clouds came down, he lost his life when his plane slammed into the side of a mountain. I stayed up to hear it from the Coast Guard. Last night, after leaving the hospital, visiting a man we’ve known since before we knew anything, my sister and I couldn’t decide if the year was a tic in the W or L column — “maybe it’s just life.” But we counted back the deaths. Brett to a mountain. A cousin to cancer. A mentor to pneumonia. An employee to excessive force by a police officer. And probably soon, the man we were visiting. There was a month of death threats following a public smear. Misunderstandings led to insults and horror as our last name was vilified and defamed. Another month spent sick on my own account, kidneys stricken with an infection that was. misdiagnosed. And now, cell growth of the worst kind take hold of a future I once imagined. The losses pile down. The property — a white flag to the city that has treated my family like shit. Our patience. Our sanity. Our peace of mind. Our dog.

But maybe a W.

Because my mom turned 60. And we threw her a surprise party. And I could’ve sworn she was turning 23.

Because my favorite author sent me books. Because my brother became a professor. Because my sister kept pursuing her dream. And my dog lasted more than a year with his disease.

And my dad kept fighting. And my brother did the same. And my other brother FINALLY listened to his own heart.

And friends piled down, harder than any loss ever could, showering us with love. And cookies before the funeral. And tissues after. And prayers. And good thoughts. And some text messages that reassured me that life does fucking suck sometimes, but that we do not.

And sure, I have a bail bondsman’s card next to an appointment card in my wallet.

But I’ll put a tic in the W column. In 2017, I reflected on growth. Today, I reflect on bravery. I can name the gray hairs on my head now, can show cortisol numbers that made doctors flare with concern. But I can show you bravery. The places where I felt fear; when I didn’t know if my dad would come home or if my brother would make it through the night or if my mom had the mental space to deal with One More Thing. But we’re still here. In spite of it all. Maybe because of it all.

The new experiences, both bad and good. The first times and the last times. The friends who will always be family. And our hearts, showing us how much they can unfold — exalted, ready, panting for whatever amount of damage they can take or love they can pour.

“For all that has been; thanks. To all that will be; yes.”

Thank you, 2018.