This morning at 10:30, I found myself in the parking lot of 2034 Randolph Road in Charlotte. I remember the day I last visited that building, in which Child and Family Development was housed until recently. It was seven weeks shy of a year ago, but my memory of it couldn't be any more clear.

John and I both left work early that day. We went to my parents' house and cried with them on the floor of the master bedroom. We drove them to Fletcher to pick Taylor up from summer school and then took T straight to Child and Family for her weekly occupational therapy session. Then, the three of us drove to the Starbucks on Providence and drowned our sorrows in $4 iced coffees. That day was swelteringly hot, just like today. After finishing our coffee, we drove back to 2034 Randolph and sat in my car for a few minutes. We opened the doors for ventilation and kept our sunglasses on, partly to shade our eyes from the sun but mostly to hide our tears. When T's appointment was over and Mom had brought her back out to the car, we asked her where she wanted to spend the afternoon. It was her special day. As we talked with her, John started the engine and pulled out of the lot. We didn't know where we were going that day, but in a bigger sense. We didn't know if we'd end up at a movie, or the park, or Claire's, or the Build-A-Bear Workshop at Concord Mills, as we eventually did. It only took a few minutes for T to decide on our destination that afternoon, but here, so many difficult months later, the rest of us still don't really know where we're going. The fact that chance brought me back to that parking lot on Randolph today, and the idea that I may be spending more time there soon, gave me the sense that maybe things are coming full circle. Then again, I still don't know where we are. The funny thing about a circle is that while you may never really get anywhere, you can never get lost.

How did we get here?

Thank you to our friends, Katie Vick and Will Gillespie, who were kind enough to dedicate their milestone birthdays to my little sister and the advancement of Batten Disease research. Instead of requesting gifts, they asked that friends consider making a donation to Taylor's fund at BDSRA. Because of their generosity and that of the donors, we are $125 closer to a cure.

Thank you also to Gina and Christopher Nelson, who have shown great compassion from half a world away. Gina, you and your husband may never meet Taylor, but you have treated her--and her family--as if they are family of your own.

And, finally, thank you to Sarah Hobbs, who was simply catching a ride on a tram car when she met a sick little girl over 3,000 miles from home, promised to find and send to her a collection of coveted and hard-to-find tram and street car stickers and then did exactly that.

It seems that whenever we least expect it, T happens upon another one of her angels. She inspires them and gives them reason, or at least the desire, to believe in miracles. She gives me hope.