I stand here in the same spot I’ve stood in for twenty-nine months now.

Occasionally, I’ve paced.

Always, I’ve hoped.

But I’ve stood here on solid ground.

Twenty-nine months of trying for just one more baby.

If I inch close to the edge of the hill, there’s a patch of loose gravel.

And I know that if I place my foot there, it will give way and I will tumble.

I have worried that if I give up hope and step on that patch, I may not survive the fall.

For all these months, I have avoided it.

Kept my distance.

But now, I’m inching closer.

With my toes, I push at the edge of the loose gravel and I watch the small stones tumble, gaining speed until they finally settle at the bottom of the hill.

The fall, while fast, ends peacefully.

I know that I can’t stand here forever.

I think that I’m ready to take that step.

And for the first time, I feel like once I reach the bottom, I will be okay.

Perhaps even better than okay.

In twenty-four hours, we will gather at the Crest Theatre, where we will get lost in the tech rehearsal, pace nervously as we wait for the show to begin and the night will fly by in the blink of an eye. I know this first hand.

And in the craziness, the last-minute makeup application and dressing and fussing, I worry that I won’t have a moment with each of you to tell you just how much you mean to me and why. So I’m doing that now, in the quiet moments on the eve of our show.

Stephanie

You are like the sunshine, my dear. You have a uncontainable light inside that casts a golden glow on everyone you come in contact with. I adore you for your optimism and your boundless love for your family. My life is better for having you in it. Thank you, Stephanie.

Lisa

There are simply no words for how much I admire you. Inside you lies such a quiet strength that I see more with each passing day. Your ability to seek out and capture the beauty in others speaks volumes about your kind and generous soul. I am so grateful for our friendship.

Roxanne

You, my dear, surprise me more every day. Though your  wit and charm are readily apparent and put everyone around you at immediate ease, your inner beauty is exemplified in all that you do for those around you. You are such a tremendous gift to all who are lucky enough to know you.

Laura

In those early minutes of your audition, I knew I would come to love you. You wear your sense of humor, kindness and generosity on the outside, my friend. What a joy it has been to get to know you over these past several months. Thank you for being a part of this cast.

Jill

Oh Jill, my sweet ray of sunshine. From the moment I met you, I knew that you would bring joy to my life. To say that I admire you doesn’t even begin to express what I feel. When I’m with you, I’m enveloped in love and a wonderful sense of calm. And for that, I am ever grateful.

Tonya

My beautiful Tonya. How can I even convey how much I love you? You entered my life three years ago now and ever since, you have graced me with your joy, optimism, hope and tenacity. When I count my blessings, my friend, I count you. Thank you for speaking the words that I wish I could. Thank you for me and thank you for all of the other women who need to hear them. I positively adore you.

Bridgette

Sweet Bridgette. I am so incredibly proud of you for taking the leap of faith and putting your story into words. Watching you evolve and grow more confident over the past few months has been such a gift. Thank you for pushing yourself… for believing in all that you can accomplish. You’re an amazing woman, my friend and I am so very lucky to know you.

Kim

The more I learn about you, Kim, the more I realize I have yet to learn. Your generosity and kindness greeted me from our first meeting, but your strength and vulnerability in your audition left me speechless. Having you as a part of this cast… as a part of my life… brings me so much joy. My gratitude for you knows no bounds.

Emma

I can still remember how, when you came in for auditions and spoke the first words of your piece, I wanted to close my eyes and get swept away in your story. Your voice, your words, your kindness have truly touched my life. Thank you so very much for that.

Deirdre

From the first time I read your story, I was certain this show needed you. With wit and tenderness, you tell a story that speaks to a piece of my soul. Thank you for going on this LTYM journey with us.. thank you for believing in this project, Deirdre.

Tresa

Oh, my feisty friend. What a joy it is to know you. Your energy and zest for life are infectious. Your smile, radiant. Thank you for sharing your story, a story that has wedged itself into my heart and changed how I see the world. You are a true delight, Tresa.

Penny

You, my dear, are grace personified. You glided into auditions and right into my heart. Thank you for trusting us with your story and for speaking the words that so many of us need to hear. My heart bursts with love and admiration for you, Penny.

Janelle

Where do I begin to tell you how much I adore you? I can still remember hearing you read for the first time. You gave me goosebumps then and you give them to me now. Every time you read. For your story… for your words… for your friendship, I thank you.

Margaret

There is no one I would have wanted to embark on this journey with more than you. Your laugh, silliness and fierce work ethic have carried me through some of the craziest times. Thank you for standing by me and making me laugh on the fun days and being my buoy on the tough ones. I can’t imagine a day of my life without you in it, my friend.

Around tables that formed a rectangle, we sat, fidgeting with our papers, our anticipation and trepidation palpable.

We knew so very little about one another then.

One by one, we read our words, each exposing one small, yet telling piece of who we are.

One beautiful, vulnerable piece of who we are.

Each piece stood on it’s own, but merged together to tell a larger story… the 2012 Listen to Your Mother, San Francisco story.

Being a part of that cast is one of the greatest joys of my life… a treasure that I hold most dear.

And tomorrow, I will walk into a room, not unlike that room in San Francisco, and greet a new LTYM cast. The Sacramento cast.

Over the past week, my mind has wandered back to last year. I’ve been swept up in memories of an experience that I’ve always struggled to find words to adequately explain.

Magic. Pure and simple magic.

But now I feel the tremendous weight of that magic. Can we recreate that here in Sacramento? Will the cast walk away from tomorrow’s table read with a sense of awe the way I did last year at this time? Will they feel alive in a way they’ve never felt before?

Will they walk away knowing that they will be tethered to their cast mates for always?

When I am still, I know they will. I know that the joy of LTYM will climb into their souls and change them in a way that they’ll one day struggle to explain, just as I do. Because that is what LTYM does.

So tonight, I’m taking deep breaths.

I’m trusting the process.

Because I know that the stories they will share tomorrow will be tucked away in their hearts and they will carry those words with them for always.

And for that, I am so incredibly grateful.

Before I applied to bring Listen to Your Mother to Sacramento, my thoughts were consumed by the end of the journey… the night when everything would come together on stage and the audience would be swept away in the stories I knew were just waiting to be told.

Having been a part of the LTYM San Francisco cast, I remember the audience’s response… I remember the tears and the laughter. I remember the joy on their faces after the show.

As time passed, my focus shifted to the submissions that filled our inboxes…the funny, the heartbreaking and the uplifting.

This past weekend, those stories came to life in our audition room at ThinkHouse Collective, each one a gift laid before us.

I knew that the weekend would be overwhelming. I knew that gratitude would buoy me and I knew that the stories would climb inside me and become a part of who I am.

What I didn’t realize would be so powerful and what I held onto last night as I struggled with the weight of choosing our cast, was the tremendous gratitude I would feel for Margaret, my beautiful co-producer and co-director.

We spent eighteen hours there in that room, side by side at the long table. She made me laugh, passed me the tissues before I had to reach for them and hugged me when she knew that I needed one so desperately.

Though our friendship formed long before our Listen to Your Mother, Sacramento journey began, this shared experience is one of my life’s greatest joys.

As the sunlight faded and we began to make what still feel like nearly impossible choices, I was so incredibly grateful to have her there with me.

I can’t imagine a moment of this without you, Margaret. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

It is nearly midnight.

I just got home from a night filled with laughter and friends.

Craig has left the light on over the bar, where Katie’s completed homework sits, waiting to be tucked into her backpack in the morning.

Matthew’s Woody and Buzz Lightyear figures lay beside Katie’s homework, waiting for familiar 3-year-old hands.

Now I will close up my computer, lock up the house, turn off the lights and go upstairs to cover little bodies and slide into bed beside the one that waits for me.

This is joy.

These small things that make up this life that we’ve built.

Small remnants of moments lived and hints of more to come.

And I am so very grateful.

There are random moments – tossing a salad, coming up the driveway to the house, ironing the seams flat on a quilt square, standing at the kitchen window and looking out at the delphiniums, hearing a burst of laughter from one of my children’s rooms – when I feel a wavelike rush of joy. This is my true religion: arbitrary moments nearly painful happiness for a life I feel privileged to lead.

–Elizabeth Berg, The Art of Mending