I feel like I have post traumatic stress disorder. Like all the hard things that have happened since are horrific aftershocks that bring me screaming back to that moment in the NICU when I started to shake. The moment I started to realize that it was over. The first moment I ever truly thought that there might not be a God, that we might all just be on our own down here. I was 22 years old. 22! And not a mature-for-my-age 22. A very young 22. Now I feel 40. At least.