Four months before the birth of her son, Kai, Natalie’s husband died suddenly. She describes her feelings as a widow one year after her loss.

I got a letter from Dr. Harnish, the minister who officiated Josh’s funeral. It was short. I opened it and read the first few lines: “First anniversary—Josh’s death.” It said that the next year may not be easier, but if I’ve made it through one year, I can certainly make it through the next. I just sat there and cried with the letter in my hand. I know this day is coming soon, and for some reason it hurts just waiting for it. Every day I think about what I was doing last year at this time. What were we doing in June of last year? June 8? June 9? And we had no idea those were his last days.

June 15 is Father’s Day. I make the executive decision to have Kai baptized on Father’s Day. My family rallies. Dr. Harnish also rises to the occasion. We have a beautiful, quiet little ceremony. Later that evening my mom comes over so I can go for a jog and enjoy the summer air. I turn down my street and see a rainbow streaking across the sky.

I go through pictures of Josh. Part of me wants tomorrow to be here and gone. Part of me wants time to stand still. I go through all of the stuff from Josh’s funeral. I look at the program. I reread all of the cards people sent me. I’ve kept all of them in a box near my bed. I find my speech from Josh’s funeral. I haven’t looked at this since the day I read it last year. I don’t know why but this feels like an appropriate time to read it again.

I don’t know who or what occupied my body in the days following his death. One time someone told me that the only time you have all of your friends and family in the same place to celebrate someone is at his wedding and his funeral. I am relieved that I was able to properly commemorate my husband, but it still perplexes me to no end that his wedding and funeral were 18 months and one day apart.

June 17. I spend the day at my parent’s house. We sit outside on our old red bench, pushing Kai on the swing that hangs from the linden tree in my parents’ front yard. We don’t talk about Josh. We just sit and push the swing. It is the only thing we know how to do today. Kai is the beam of light. He is the only thing worth smiling about today. I don’t think he will ever know how he has saved all of us.

■ Reprinted from the book Signs of Life by Natalie Taylor. Copyright © 2011 by Natalie Taylor. Published by Broadway, a division of Random House, Inc.