Thump. Thump. Thump.

Have you ever had one of those moments in your life when you're stuck somewhere between sleep and awake? One of those moments when you're... when you're like stuck in a place where's there no way for your brain to register whether or not that sound you just heard was a sound you really just heard, or if it was more of a simple fragment of some soon-to-be forgotten dream sound. Nothing to worry about at all.

Like that moment when you're just waking up, but you're not quite there yet... so nothing's really real.

That place?

Wham. Wham. Wham.

And then there's that. A definitely real sound that jolts you from your peaceful slumber and let's you know that it's time to get back to life.

"Ouch. Shit!"

I smacked my skull on the edge of the bedside table at the sound I now knew to be really real. I shook my head harshly a few times in the hopes of clearing away the leftover remnants of any fast-fading dreams... or at the very least, the fog of the previous night's one-too-many tequila shots.

Ick. I knew I shouldn't have skipped the after party.

I sat up, finally gathering my bearings, and glanced around the room. A quick inventory of my surroundings, brought me the comfort of knowing I'd made it back to my own hotel room - as evidenced by the familiar luggage on the desk across the room and the past week's worth of dirty laundry still piled up and collecting dust in the corner of the room. And hey! I'd somehow even managed to change into a clean pair of shorts and a t-shirt... and considering I wasn't asleep on the bathroom floor, or worse - with my head in the toilet - score a few more for me. I mean, I could obviously have done a lot worse considering it was my first night of partying in a long, long time.

I laid back down on my pillow, chuckling as I thought to myself, how once upon a time in my life, not so long ago, waking up alone in a hotel room after a hot party would have been looked upon as an ultimate failure... a bum deal. A tragedy of epic proportions. And certainly something the other guys (at least half the other guys) would have made fun of me for, and vice versa. But now... now it just made me feel like a successful husband, and a decent guy. Like all of the other guys. And that was certainly nothing to be ashamed of.

Thump. Thud.

Shit.

Somehow in all the self inventory I'd been taking, I'd completely lost track of the fact that something had woken me up in the first place. I often do that you know... lose my train of thought... like now, where was I?

I stumbled out of bed and across the room, chancing one quick glance at myself in the mirror as I dodged by.

Woof.

Now I remembered why I didn't party anymore. I looked like hell. Death warmed over once or twice. Not that it mattered though, it couldn't possibly be anyone important knocking on the door at this time of the morning anyway. One of the guys most likely, checking to make sure I'd made it through the night. We were good for each other like that.

"Who is it?" I called as I approached the door, cursing the fact that this expensive hotel had overlooked the simple courtesy of a damned peephole. I mean, really? I just had to hope whoever the crazed madman on the other side was, at least he'd be honest enough to let me know his intentions before he beat the door down to kill me.

"Nick?" a familiar voice called back, "is that you?"

I couldn't get the door opened fast enough after hearing that voice. Wondering what in the world she was doing there... how she got there, and why? She was supposed to be back in Tennessee spending time with friends and family... not here in California... so it must be important...

And damn all these friggin' locks on these damn hotel doors!

As I slipped the last chain out of it's lock and flung the door back in a hurry, I stopped in my tracks. There was my wife, standing there before me, tears streaming down her cheeks as she reached forward and fell into my arms, hugging me tightly as she cried.

"Oh God baby, what's wrong?" I asked, pulling here inside and hugging her tighter still... worried to death wondering what could've happened over the past 24 hours since I'd last talked to her. "Are you okay? What happened?"

And it was then, as I held her in my arms and my heart raced about a thousand beats a minute, that she leaned up and kissed me, smiling brightly through her tears... the biggest smile I have ever seen on her face. A happy smile. A genuine smile. A smile that let me know her tears were tears of joy.

"What... what?" I asked, not daring to smile back just yet. Scared that if I did, her smile would fade into tears once more. Scared that if I did, what I'd thought had been a smile would turn out to be a simple mirage, washed away and replaced by some horrible heartache. God knows we'd seen enough of that in our marriage.

"She's ours Nick..." she whispered, finally letting go as she grabbed her backpack from the floor beside her and produced a stack of papers a mile high. A stack of papers I recognized well from months of hard work and frustration. On top of the stack of papers laid a photo revealing the sweet face of the beautiful little girl we'd fallen in love with only months before. She shoved the stack into my hands and smiled once more as the tears started falling again. "... she's so totally ours!"

I gasped, fighting back my own tears now as I ran my fingers over the photo. "Don't lie," I whispered back and she laced her arms around my waist and pulled me closer, "you're serious? Really serious?"

"Totally, really, honestly, one hundred percent, dead serious." she smiled again and the tears fell faster for the both of us. "Our agency called last night and I caught the first place I could catch. Our paperwork has been submitted, our homestudies are complete and as soon as the review and approve our Dossier... we get a travel date!"

Yeah... so really though... I hadn't understood a single word she'd just said. In fact, I'd had trouble understanding just about everything having to do with the adoption process from day one when we decided to embark on this crazy journey, but I swear that's why I met my wife. Because by God she knew and understood it all! All I knew was what was most important, and the one thing I understood completely were the words, "she's ours" and that we would have a travel date... and that a travel date would mean that we would get to meet our daughter... and that we would get to bring her home. And that... was the most amazingly awesome news ever.

I kissed my wife and pulled her closer, "This is incredible!" I breathed the words into her ear, longing to have her close to me... missing her touch as only a husband in love with his wife could. I pulled her into the bed so that we could just lay there together, side by side like we always did when I was home and we were together. "Do they know how long it will take from here?" I asked.

I watched as her smiled widened and I guessed the news was good before she even told me. "They said we could have our little girl in our arms as early as next month."

And in that moment, I knew exactly the feeling my wife had had when I'd opened the door and her eyes were streaming with tears. I felt my own eyes stinging as tears pooled within them and trickled down my cheeks. For so long I'd felt like I'd never cry tears of joy again... but here they were. I wanted to tell the whole world... I wanted to share this joy. It felt like we'd been waiting an eternity for these moments... longer even than since we'd decided to adopt. And so now, it seemed nearly impossible to believe we'd be reaching the end of this thing so soon.

I lifted the photo from the paper and stared into the beautiful, brown, almond-shaped eyes of the little girl who would soon become our own. Our own.

What an amazing feeling.

"Do you think we should tell everyone yet?" I asked as I surveyed the newest picture of our angel, taking in all of her beautifully distinctive features, knowing that to some they would stand out as unique and confusing. "I mean... do you think we should warn people beforehand?"

I watched as my wife turned towards me and smiled, "Does it really matter?" she asked as she slid the picture from my fingers and gazed at it herself... "all that matters is that we will love her unconditionally and forever. All that matters is that she is so beautiful to us."

I nodded and she continued... "and besides... we've seen their hearts open up with love before. We'll see it again... I just know."

I couldn't help but smile, because she was right. This little girl was going to be so, so loved.

I'm sure at some point in your life you've heard all the sayings about how people can't truly feel what joy is until they experience a certain amount of sorrow in their lives.

Those sayings.

Well... I think it works the other way around too. I mean, I believe a person can't really, truly know what sorrow is until they've experienced a certain amount of joy.

It's like this; until you've been swallowed by the depths of despair, or drowned in the pits of lonliness or sadness or loss, you won't have felt true happiness... true joy. At least, not to the same extent as someone who's been to those depths, and come back.

At the same time; until you stand atop the pillar of life, at the height of personal success - be that in a career or a love or a family - whatever it is in your life that makes you feel like you could conquer the world and all that might come along with it -- until you're that happy and something comes along and knocks you down, flipping you off that pedestal of joy and whirling you back to earth in a blazing crash of sorrowful misery, until then, you won't have known true sorrow either.

I think it's a process. I think that at certain points in our lives - all our lives, it is necessary for each and every single on of us to experience both. Joy and sorrow. And sometimes I think that during those back and forth, joy and sorrow experiences, one always has to be greater than the other - the joy or the sorrow - so that we always really feel it. Really get to the heart of it.

And in the end, if we don't experience both... then we probably haven't lived. Or if we have lived, we've lived too carefully. Too cautiously. And still then, that's not really living at all.

They say God doesn't give us more than we can handle. I believe that, even though it often feels like he throws an awful lot my way. And sometimes, if I'm being completely honest - which I am - I have struggled with my belief in a God who would take away someone I love. Or make a friend suffer endless amounts of horrible pain. Or let thousands of people die in natural disasters... or terrorist attacks.

I find myself questioning... if God doesn't give us more than we can handle, then why do all those people have to die?

But maybe God knows best. Better than any of us. Maybe those are the ones God knows couldn't handle it. And maybe those are the ones God takes... for their own comfort.

I certainly don't know.

What I do know though, is this; for every moment of great joy I've had in my life, I've also known great sorrow. And for every moment of great sorrow... I've been blessed with greater joy.

And I think it has to even out in the end.

A delicate balance.

It was after all, each of these sorrows and these joys that brought us to this place. To this little town in the Ukraine, just days away from having our daughter placed into our waiting arms forever.

My first great joy...

The day was May 18th 1999...

But first, let me preface this by saying; I know some of you may be thinking, 'But seriously, Nick?... you were 19. You mean to tell us you had no moments of joy before then? Or worse, all the moments you can remember are sad ones?

Well no.

I see it like this; our childhoods are filled with so many, many moments, both joyful and heartbreaking. Some of those moments are simpler moments, like the first time we learned to ride a bike or spell our name, or when we got our first big 'boo boo' or the first time our parents had to ground us. And some of those moments are major milestones, like our first kisses and our first fist fights. Our first loves... and our first real losses. But the thing about being a child, the thing about all of those moments, is this; we were children.

Simply put, but maybe not so simply understood.

Let me explain.

You see, yes, those moments are still our moments, just as the moments we make in our adulthoods are our moments, and even though I could fill pages upon pages with all of those moments, moments that would make you laugh and cry, tears of both joy and sorrow, the thing is, when we're children, there are a lot of things we don't understand. A lot of things we can't understand. And so we are incredibly impressionable. And because of this, a lot of the emotions that we feel as children are emotions that we feel only because the people around us are telling us to feel these emotions... are impressing these emotions upon us.

And so I think it's important to begin at adulthood, when the stories truly become our own. To begin in a time when I knew that my life was mine and not my parents... or my managers... or my bandmates... or anyone elses. My own. To begin in a time when I knew what I felt because I truly felt it for myself.

And so it was...

May 18th 1999, the day we released Millenium worldwide, and the first day I really and truly felt like the Backstreet Boys were welcomed in the United States. Not that we'd never had fans here... and not that we'd never had any success in the states. Because certainly, to an extent we had. It was just... it was new and different. Like going on a long vacation and nobody realizes you've been gone until you come back, but they're still incredibly excited to see you... like that. And it was an amazing and refreshing feeling, and at 19, finally freed from the control of my parents, for the first time in my life, I really felt like I could experience this success for myself.

And the best thing about that day is that I can still go back there in my mind sometimes, if I think about it really hard. If I concentrate enough, I can sometimes still imagine exactly the feeling of the atmosphere. I can still hear the way it sounded... the smells... and how I felt. And if I think about it really hard, I can put myself back in the moment, and still feel so incredibly blessed.

"That's right, it's three in New York, the kids in Times Square are screaming, the Backstreet Boys are harmonizing... that can only mean one thing; It's time for Backstreet TV, right here on MTV."

"Oh my god," I said, leaning over and whispering into Brian's ear as he sat beside me on the couch in the TRL studios, waiting for the show to begin, "this is insane!"

"I know," he said back, "and freaking amazing!"

He was right. My heart pumped unbelievably fast within my chest as I glanced around the studio. There were hoards of screaming teenaged fans, crammed into the studio alongside us. And still hundreds, if not a thousand more lining the streets of Times Square, right outside the windows. Their screams echoed up through the glass windows, at times making it feel as if the whole building was shaking. It made me nervous and excited all at the same time. They were screaming our names, they were sweating... they were crying. Some of them had been camped there for days. They held up signs that expressed their appreciation, their devotion and well... their love, for all of us. There were funny signs, fancy signs, signs that must have taken weeks to design and there were the typical marriage proposals. There were girls dressed up as if they were going to a fancy dinner party and girls dressed down in blue jeans with BSB t-shirts. There were girls who wore next to nothing and some who looked like they were too young to be seen out in public that way. There were girls of every size, shape and color, and some guys too. There was a little girl with her mom and a teenager with her grandmother... and it was just so incredibly cool and so incredibly heartwarming to look around and see the diversity of the American crowd.

Some fans sat in quiet awe, others chatted wildly. Some did their very best to get our attention and others sang and danced to their hearts content. One girl passed out and had to be taken backstage for medical attention. A pregnant fan that looked like she could give birth at any moment was offered a chair. It was crazy really.

I had to admit even I felt stifling hot and a bit ready to pass out, but I think it was more the adrenaline than the temperature that had me worked into a cold sweat.

I looked around at the other guys, gathered on the couch around me. Kevin looked calm and composed, just as he always did. He was people watching as usual, giving the girls his best version of his charming Kentucky smile and waving every now and then. Aj was seated on the floor in front of Kevin, his sunglasses covering his eyes as he chatted with Carson about who knows what. He and Carson always seemed to get along. Brian kept leaning over whispering gibberish into my ear in attempt to make me laugh, which probably would have worked if I'd been able to hear him over the roar of the crowd in the studio. And Howie sat at my feet, relaxed and cool in all of his suave Howieness.

And then Carson started talking into the mircrophone, but this time we could hardly hear him because the crowd went nuts. They settled down after a moment and I caught the last of his words... "nice to have you here."

Well thanks!

"What??" We all joked, taking cue from one another as we clasped our hands to our ears and feigned like we couldn't hear him... which wasn't far from the truth. I'm not sure who started it, probably Brian. The screams filled the air again and that's when Kevin took over the speaking. And I realized for the thousandth time why he was the spokesperson, because when Kevin spoke, people listened. He was cool, calm and collected and he knew how to command an audience.

Video rolled from earlier in the day of the moment we'd stood by the windows in the studio and for the first time in my life I'd seen my face appear on the jumbotron in the center of Times Square in New York City. And man what an experience that had been! It felt like a dream. A really good but crazy dream. Like I needed to ask Kevin to pinch me because for real, I didn't believe it could possibly be happening... even though it was. That kind of dream.

As I watched myself, the smile on my face in the video echoed the smile on my face at the moment. I listed as everyone around me talked to Carson. I was too nervous to speak just yet, as I often was in interviews, prefering to let the others do the talking, afraid of making a fool of myself. I prefered to sit back and listen, trying to get comfortable with my surroundings and settle into my role as the silly Nick Carter. The Nick Carter that everyone knew and loved. Even if in reality I was a much deeper person than I outwardly appeared to be. I watched as they showed video of the fans who'd stood in line to buy our CD, and nodded along with Brian as he thanked MTV and the fans and Carson for all of their support. Because seriously we all knew that without them we wouldn't have been there. Without them we'd still have been overseas touring and not at home where we felt we really belonged.

I listened to AJ as he talked about how far we'd come... through Brian's heart surgery and deaths in our families and all of the multiple setbacks to having a CD that we truly felt was our own. A CD on which we'd made many of our own decisions and had songs written by our own singers... and it made me realize how mature we'd all become. And I listened as they talked about our last record signing when only a couple hundred fans had shown up... and we'd been proud of that... to this... the thousands that had showed up today to scream and cry and to celebrate us.

And the rest of the half hour flew by. I collected gifts galore and spoke little. I sat and listened to the other guys talk, inserting my own input minimally. And before I knew it the show was over and we were gathered in our dressing room backstage.

"What do you think?" AJ asked as we stood around the window, peeking through the blinds at the fans still milling around below.

"I think if this is any indication," Kevin said, pointing down below to the crowd of fans and he laid his arm around my shoulder and patted AJ on the back with his other hand, "this is gonna be one helluva year."

"I think," I smiled as I pointed out to the jumbotron where we once more were featured and to the sign over the Virgin record store that showed our album cover and to the hoards of screaming girls that were staring up at the window as Kevin waved, "that it already is."

And it was. An unbelievably amazing year. To know what it's like to stand on the top. To be on the top. And to feel so happy and so amazing and so successful. That's not to say that the year was never stressful, because it was. Or that every day was filled with joy and happiness, because they weren't. But this isn't about a year of joy... it's about a day and that day... that day certainly was one of complete joy. And that was before we even knew we would enter the Billboard charts at number 1 and remain there for 10 straight weeks, or that we would sell 500,000 copies in the US on the first day alone, or 1,134,000 copies within the first week. Or that we'd set all kinds of records.

The thing was, at that moment, sitting in that TRL studio with all of those fans, none of that would have mattered. At that moment, sitting there with those thousands of fans, honestly, just knowing that all of them had gone out and bought the album would have been enough, because that would have meant that there were people in the US who truly cared about us and supported us. Enough to spend the night camping out in Times Square and stand there amongst the hoards of screaming fans and be there for us. And it was what we'd been hoping for all along.

And so yes, I can still go back there sometimes... and I do. In my thoughts and in my dreams. I can remember the sounds that echoed through the small studio -- those screams that made my ears ring and my heart pump wildly within my chest and my skin tingle with excitement. And the feeling of pure adrenaline... of running on fumes after the hectic week we'd had, with promotions all over the world, and not caring because the adrenaline kept us going. And the smell... the smell of a thousand different perfumes mingling together... and of sweat and tears... and I don't know what else, it was just a distinct smell. And I can still smell it sometimes if I try really hard.

And then there was how I felt. Like I was on top of the world. Like I was loved and supported and nothing could stop me... nothing at all.

The feeling of great joy.

And then there's the first great sorrow, which is so much harder to think about... not because it's more difficult to remember all of the details, because that's certainly not the case -- I can remember just about every little thing about those days as well -- But rather because those are the memories that come flooding back far too often. And they do so at the most random and inopportune of times, when I least expect thm to... and when I least want them to.

And especially because those are the memories I'd really rather never have to think about at all.

But they are also the memories that I really need to think about. At least sometimes. Becasue despite how difficult those moments were, they were a huge part of my life and they played a very integral part in the making of who I am today. And those memories, as painful as they can be, remind me of the fact that going through the whole experience, in the long run, only helped to make me a stronger, better person.

I can't do this..." I whispered into Kevin's ear, leaning over so I was sure he could hear me. My palms were sweating, my head was spinning and I felt like I was gonna hurl at any moment. I was some kind of combination of nervous, stressed, sad and angry all thrown together... and I'm sure you could add any other emotion and I probably felt some semblance of it at that exact moment.

"You'll be fine Nick... just chill," Kevin whispered back without even so much as glancing my direction. I could see that Kevin was in a no-nonsense mood and so I didn't press the issue, even though I still felt like crap and I still didn't want to go through with any of this.

I slowed my pace a bit, falling a little behind the group as I took a few slow, deep breaths, resigning myself to my fate as we made our way through the long narrow halls of the MTV studios, on our way to the newsroom for our interview with John Norris. I think all of us were just hoping we'd make it there without running into any fellow celebrities who'd ask questions we weren't ready to answer... or worse yet, fans who were there for the taping of our 'special announcement' on TRL that afternoon.

Yeah... 'special' indeed.

I took a few more deep breaths as we entered the room single file. I stuck to the rear, following Brian and seriously contemplating for a few seconds at least, turning around and running as fast as my legs would carry me, straight back to the dressing rooms. I mean, I doubted any of them would come after me. But I didn't... instead I walked inside and took the last remaining seat, on the couch next to Kevin. Next to him... but far enough away. Leaving the space where AJ should have been.

John sauntered in a few minutes later, nodding solemly in our direction. He sat on the seat across from us and fidgeted with his shirt collar while the production assistant helped afix his microphone.

All I could do was hope that he didn't ask too many questions, because who knew what any of us might say at this point. We were a group of grown men with so many mixed emotions we could probably simultaneously cry and bite someone's head off. Not that I thought any of us would bite John's head off...

"I'm glad you guys could be here, today," He finally said a few minutes later when I'd gotten lost in my own thoughts, "and I'm really sorry it had to be under these circumstances."

John had always been nice to us... I felt for him having to do an interview like this one.

"Are you guys ready?" He continued.

Kevin nodded back, Brian actually responded with a 'yes', Howie stared at the floor and I... well I just tried my best to swallow the growing lump in my throat and fight back the tears that threatened to slip from my eyes. To say I hated AJ in that moment would have been wrong... Because I didn't... really. I didn't hate him... I just hated what he'd done to us. Hated being put in this position. Hated the fact that I'd spent the past 24 hours in tears over him and he didn't even know it.

The cameras rolled on three and John began the interview. "So can you tell the viewers what brings you guys here today? One of you is noticeably missing."

Kevin nodded, but for the first time he didn't speak first, turning instead towards Brian, who nodded back and took the lead. "AJ has checked himself into rehab..." he said, amazingly somehow remaining unchoked, and even though he'd said the words out loud, it still didn't seem real. "He came to us yesterday and said, 'Guys, I need your help.' And it was something we'd been waiting on... something we all knew he needed. But you can't get help until you want it for yourself."

And hearing Brian say it reminded me of it actually happening. Reminded me of AJ coming to the four of us the day before and bawling his eyes out as he told us, for the first time, that he wanted help... that he couldn't do this to himself anymore. It was one of those moments when we all breathed a sigh of relief while at the same time thinking, 'what the hell are we gonna do?'

I heard my name and realized a little too late that John was asking me a question. It didn't matter anyway though because the moment I opened my mouth to ask him what he'd said, I felt the tears coming on strong an knew I wouldn't be able to answer. "I'm sorry..." I cried, shaking my hed and trying my best to collect my thoughts enough to gain my composure. "I'm just a little sad..." I continued, trying to explain why I was crying, though I'm sure no words were really necessary. John apologized, which wasn't necessar... because it certainly wasn't his fault. I'm sure he was just as uncomfortable conducting the interview as we were answering the questions.

Unable to ever really collect myself, I was happy when Howie finally stepped in...

"We've talked about it... I mean obviously you know, we're betting on AJ to come back, and we want him to..." he said in response to what I now knew was a question about whether or not AJ would return to the group... "cause we don't feel like the Backstreet Boys are the Backstreet Boys without AJ."

And listening to his response I could only hope that Howie was right... that we were all right and that AJ would come back, because we really weren't the Backstreet Boys without him. It didn't feel right sitting on that couch, four instead of five... four filled with heartache.

It wasn't until Howie spoke again a few minutes later, telling John, "His life... his health, is more important to us than this..." that I finally felt compelled to say what I knew in my heart needed to be said. And so without even thinking, I interupted Howie...

"That's the one thing..." I said, my eyes once again filling with tears, my voice choking up as I fought to get the words out... "cause... you know... it's him. It's not about the group itself, it's about... I mean... it's about his life, and who he is... and that's the most important thing."

And it was. And that was the whole reason we were even there. Because if none of us cared about AJ and if none of us believed that AJ, as a human being and not just as a member of the band, was important... then none of us would have been there, supporting him, and showing our love and concern.

And thankfully John ended the interview at that, because that's exactly when I fell apart. Like it finally all hit me... like really, really hit me. That this was one of my very best friends and that his life had seriously been in jeapordy. His LIFE... not his career... not our career... his life. And he could have died at any given moment in the months leading up to those awful moments in that hotel room when Kevin acted like the biggest asshole... and saved his life.

As we stood, waiting to leave the room and go out to the TRL stage, I reached over and hugged Kevin. He looked at me, somewhat shocked, but hugged me back. Tears flooded my eyes and poured down my cheeks at an ever growing pace.

"We're gonna make it through this buddy," Kevin whispered as he hugged me tighter before finally letting me go. "AJ's gonna make it through this... you'll see."

And I nodded my head, trying my best to control the tears. I sighed deeply and tried my best to smile, nodding my head to agree... even though I still had trouble believing his words.

Even though that's the moment I remember the most when I try my best not to think back to that horrible, depressing time in my life... there were so many other horrible moments that day, and in the days that lead up to it and that followed.

There were the moments when Kevin approached AJ in the hotel... even though thankfully I wasn't there for most of it, I did get there just in time to hear the words, "You're dead to me." And those were enough to break my heart... for both AJ and for Kevin.

And then there was saying good bye to AJ when he left to go to rehab. It was short and sweet... and only Brian and I got to say good bye. He really wasn't up for it, but we really didn't want to leave things left unsaid, so w hugged him and told him we loved him and that over anything else we wanted him to get better. I mean... how else do you say good bye to someone when you're completely unsure you'll ever see them again? Or when you're not really sure they'll come back the same person you've alwasy known.

And then there was going on TRL that afternoon, after the interview. It was clear when we first went out that the fans had no clue why we were there. They sceamed and shouted and hooped and hollered and I'm sure expected something awesome. Instead they got only four of us... all red-eyed and sorrow filled. And the announcement they got was anything but awesome.

I've seen the youtube footage... where Kevin announces it, crying; AJ is gonna receive treatment for depression, anxiety, and his excessive consumption of alcohol." And then they pan out to the studio audience and you catch a glimpse of the looks on the girls faces... looks of sadness and horror as they wipe their eyes and cry right along with him. And then John asks me about my hand... and the lie. Like it would have been so bad to just say, "Nick got really upset because his best friend's going to rehab and so he punched a hole in the wall"?

And then there's the one girl in the audience who says, "I can't believe he felt so depressed when he has all these fans who love him so much..." and all I could think every time I saw that video, was what does that girl know? It doesn't matter how many fans you've got, or how successful you are when you're depressed. Because depression can make you feel like the worst person in the world, even if you're the best. And being loved by everyone in the world wouldn't even be enough.

If 1999 was the good year... the year of the day of great joy, and many more filled with joy... then 2001 was as equally horrible. The year filled with sorrow. There was everything with AJ and having to cancel that leg our our tour. And then September 11th happened and Leighanne could have died and Daniel Lee, our crew member did die... and after that, it was hard to feel good about anything for a while.

But through it all, my faith became stronger, as well as my resolve. Even if not right away. And it wasn't because of the events themselves, because they truly weren't anything but devastating... one of those times in my life when I seriously found myself questioning the God I'd always believed in. Because how could a God who's supposed to be all-loving really let anyone go through all of that... let all of those people go through all of that?

No... it wasn't the events that strengthened my faith in something greater than myself, but rather the way that we all responded to them. We could have easily given up the band the moment AJ left for treatment, letting go of all the hopes and dreams we'd had for our futures. Or we could have kicked him out and gone on without him, giving no consideration to his future. But instead we held tight to each other and waited it out, certain that in the end we'd all be better because of it. And we were.

And I think September 11th proved that. Because at a time when once again we could have fallen apart... because we all suffered a loss in Daniel, and Brian came close to losing his wife and AJ could have easily turned back to the bottle or to drugs for comfort... instead this time we clung to one another tightly and remained united... just the way our nation did.

And we became better people because of it.

When my wife, Jenna, and I decided that we were going to adopt, there were two general agreements that we received from just about everyone we spoke to and all of the friends we'd made on our adoption forums and in our support groups. The first was, that we needed to be prepared for a long and difficult process. A process filled with, as we were well warned, many requirements, confusions, and mistakes. Requirements that had to be met with absolute precision, confusions that would make doing that very difficult, and mistakes from those confusions that would often take great lengths of time to figure out how to correct.

And the second -- they all said that in the end it would be soooo totally worth it.

Honestly it was the 'totally worth it' part that kept us going, because difficult doesn't even begin to describe the process. It's hectic, it's frustrating, and it's insanely confusing. If not for my wife, who I've come to realize is the most organized and level headed person I know -- next to Kevin of course! -- I would have been completely lost. And I probably would have given up after a very short period of time.

There were papers we had to fill out and submit, only to have to resubmit them a few weeks later because they were missing a signature somewhere or our initials somewhere else. Documents had to be filled out and submitted to our agency, to the Ukranian government, and to many other places in between. They needed copies of our birth certificates and copies of our marriage licenses and copies of the copies of those copies... I swear. And did you know you can't just call up and have someone fax those to you? Cause I sure didn't... and nope you can't.

In an age of electronics and technology there are a few things that still have to be done the old fashioned way, using snail mail and lots of paper. Adoption is definetly one of those things. I think they'd probably call in the Pony Express if it still existed.

It's a good thing I'm a Backstreet Boy and I learned that failure is as much a part of success as well... success, or Jenna and I probably would have lost our minds the very first time they called to let us know we needed to resend an entire stack of papers because they'd been 'lost in transit'. LOST... in transit. You know, that kind of stuff doesn't happen with email.

And then there's the part that no one really warned us about. The hardest part so far. The part that happened after we finally got through months and months of paperwork and after we finally got the go ahead to travel to the Ukraine. The point that I thought meant, you know... YAY! I get to fly there, pick up my baby girl and bring her HOME!

Uh... not so fast.

We've been here a week... well, not here where we are right now a week, but in the Ukraine a week... and we haven't even met our daughter yet.

Nope... and it's killing me.

We arrived in Kiev last Monday where we spent the night at a beautiful five star hotel -- one I'd stayed in before with the Backstreet Boys -- and then when we woke up the next morning, we ate a continental breakfast before spending the following hours taking a tour of a small part of the city before our appointment at the ministry building (and yes I thought about Harry Potter when I had to go there), where we finally received our referral for our baby.

It's strange the way it all came about... and I'll tell you more about that later, but when you find a child the way we found our little girl, it's different than when you get matched with a child from an agency at random. In this case, we matched ourselves. We chose her. We saw our daughter and we fell in love and we said, "we want to adopt her"... and even though there is so, so much more to all of it than that... that is the short version.

When we arrived to the ministry offices, we were escorted by a translator to a room where we sat down across a large desk from a man who laid our Dossier on the table before him and started asking questions. Just simple questions... like our names, ages, birthdates. Where we were from and why we were there. Things that were easy enough to answer, even when I was so insanely nervous. It was strange to see our Dossier laying there. I heard my wife take a few deep breaths and I reached over to take her hand. It was, after all, the culmination of months and months worth of effort and paperwork... all of the hours and checking and rechecking to make sure we'd written down everything correctly and signed all the lines and dotted all the i's... and all of the stress... right there before us in an envelope not nearly big enough to signify all the work we'd put into it.

When we'd finally answered all of the questions to the man's satisfaction, he handed us our daughter's file.

The file.

The golden ticket.

The next best thing to actually having her in our arms and one step closer to the real thing. This was all of her personal information... or at least all that they knew.

We couldn't get out of that building fast enough. We literally ran through parts of the city to get back to our hotel, forgoing the dinner we'd planned on stopping to eat so that we could tear into that file and devour whatever information it might contain. When we finally reached our room after what seemed like an eternity, we flung our bags onto the floor and hurried over to the couch, cuddling up together as we placed the file onto the long narrow coffee table in front of us. I looked at Jenna and she looked at me, we both took a deep breath and opened the folder...

... and there she was.

In black and white, in color, in six beautiful new photographs (or at least new to us). There was one of her as a brand new baby... it looked like a hospital picture... it probably was. Another when she was a few months old, one from her first birthday, one that was dated a few months back and one that had been taken only three days before. She looked just as sweet and innocent and beautiful as she had in the photo we'd fallen in love with. The one that had made us decide to adopt her.

We laid the photos down on the table, thankful that we'd have these new keepsakes for her future. Jenna flipped the pages to her medical file... there was information there... mostly what we already knew, some things we didn't, but as we'd been warned in many of our support groups, we weren't ready to trust too much of that information until we got her home to the US to be checked out by doctors we trusted. We flipped next to the section on her 'social' history. There were a few brief paragraphs... but not much useful information. The things we'd known to expect... that she "exhibits some behaviours typical of children in group homes such as rocking...", that she is "slow to warm up to new people" and that she is "often shy and withdrawn". But there were promising words too... "smiles often and laughs"... "loves hugs"... "is easy going." Everything anyone could hope for in any child.

And on the very front of the file... her name.

"Faith."

Very simple. Very sweet. Just... Faith."

The name given to her by the orphanage... and the name we'd decided to keep. Because it was a name far more fitting than any would could have chosen ourselves, and because the moment we saw her and the moment we knew her name, we knew it was meant to be.

Our faith is what brought us to the support groups and the website and her picture... and a huge leap of faith is what we decided to take when we decided to adopt her.

And I just know, in my heart of hearts, as I sit here tonight in this tiny town, just miles away from the orphanage my daughter sleeps in... that it's faith that's going to get us to her... and faith that's going to get us home. Just a few more days...

Now the second moment of great joy in my life is a little harder to describe than the first.... because well... just read and maybe you'll understand.

I'll start by saying that there were a lot of little great moments after all of the sorrow of 2001. I mean... being named "Sexiest Man in the World" by Cosmo Magazine for one... that was pretty damn fantastic. It did after all, make me feel good about myself fo once, during a period of my life when I had struggled with really horrible self esteem. Not that I've ever not struggled with horrible self esteem... but then especially. And then there was the birth of Brian's son, Baylee. The very first "Backstreet Baby". I was in the waiting room for that one... and damn... I'll never forget seeing that kid for the very first time and the feeling that I got... just a feeling of awe at how amazing a new life could really be. Too cool!

And then there was our hiatus. Not that it was an awesome thing in and of itself, because there's no doubt I missed my music career and our success the whole time I was away from it. And there's no doubt that I missed touring and the guys when we weren't hanging out with one another on a daily basis. But I think it's true what they say - that absence makes the heart grow fonder. And I also think that being away from all of that made me discover a lot about myself that I hadn't been able to discover during all those years of nonstop BSB, and wouldn't have been able to discover otherwise. And more importantly... most importantly... it also taught me a lot about what I didn't like about myself and about my life. And it made me realize the person I wanted to be, and the person I didn't want to be. It made me realize the type of people I wanted to surround myself with -- the guys... our families -- and the kind of people -- *cough* Paris *cough* -- that I didn't.

And that's a good thing, and least it has turned out to be in the long run.

And then of course, we had our fairly successful 'comeback' with Never Gone. Getting back into the groove of things was fun and touring again was fun... but I don't think any of those moments would really qualify as a moment of "great joy"... except maybe the whole "Sexiest Man" thing... like I said, that was pretty freaking fantastic!

But no... the second moment of great joy, believe it or not... and you probably really won't believe it, especially if you know anything about the show... came along with House of Carters.

I know right? You're probably thinking, 'that whole debacle Nick? Really?"

Yes really.

But don't think I'm too naive. I'm well aware of the face that I made an ass of myself in more ways than one during the filming of that show. A huge ass sometimes even. But the joy didn't come in the way a normal person might think it would (of course, I'm not normal). It came in kind of a roundabout way... in realization and conclusion. In knowledge of bigger, better things.

The greatest moment.... that moment of great joy... came not from the fun moments I spent bonding with my siblings -- though there were plenty of those, and they were definitely joyous. Nor did it come from all the fighting... hilarious in retrospect, even if not at the time. Nope... the moment came on the very last day of filming when all of the bags had been packed and loaded into the cars. It came after I'd bid each of my four siblings fond and tearfilled farewells laced with promises of 'see you soon's' and dozens of 'I love you's'.

And I remember it well...

Alright AC," I piped up after finally loading what had to be the 50th and final piece of Aaron's luggage into his car, shutting the door with a careful bang, "I think that's the last of your crap."

He smiled and laughed as I pulled him into a tight hug and gave him a rather harsh nuggie before we turned to stand together, staring for a few moments at the house that stood behind us. The house where we'd spent the past four weeks of our lives filming our family's reality tv show. The house in which the two of us had done everything from laughing til we cried to fighting til our sisters nearly called the cops on us... and having it all caught on film. Public record... private record. Moments we'd never forget. For better and for worse... our best moments and our worst, because that's what reality is... a lot of times it's for worse.

"I really am gonna miss this place," Aaron said, trying to hide the fact that he was getting a little teary eyed. It had, after all, been the second time we'd done this in a matter of hours -- the first time for filming... this time for real. And the first was emotional enough. We knew that morning that as soon as the camera crews had filmed the departures they would hurry to leave and within a matter of minutes the excitement would end and Aaron and I would have more time to actually pack up his things and get him moved out. And by his 'things'... I mean... he had a lot.

This time, the real time was the sentimental good bye, and neither of us, it turns out is very good and sentimental good byes. Instead of just saying what we want to say... what should be easy to say... we just stand there and look at each other, hoping someone will break the silence, just not saying anything at all. Life is like that for me a lot... not just with Aaron and not just with good byes. When knowing what to say doesn't come easily or naturally, I just prefer to keep my mouth shut. And that usually works out in most situations... because I have back-ups in Brian and Aj and Howie... Kevin before, always. Because they all seem blessed with the ability to talk, all of the time. But in situations like these, when someone needed to bridge the gap between two individuals at a loss for words. It sucked.

Aaron finally took the plunge though, and for that I was grateful. He smiled after those few awkward minutes passed and gave me one last quick hug before climbing into the driver's seat of his car.

"I guess this is good bye then..." He whispered as he turned the key in the ignition and cranked up the air... "I really loved doing this Nick... thanks for everything."

"Not good bye doof," I smiled back, resting my arms as I leaned on the side of his car, "I'll see you soon. And thank you for doing the show... I really had a good time, even if it wasn't exactly what we'd all envisioned." And of course by that I meant... even if it wasn't a big old bed of sibling roses. Which I should have known all along it wouldn't be.

"Naw," he said with a grin, "but at least nobody got killed."

I had to laugh... because the fact that no one died was certainly a bonus. I reached in and punched him lightly in the arm, "except for maybe you almost."

He laughed back and shook his head, "you couldn't hurt me if you tried."

We laughed together before he Aaron caught sight of the time on his dashboard clock and reached up quickly to buckle his seatbelt. "Well man, I'd better go... I've gotta be at the airport like, yesterday..."

I shook my own head, "Be careful getting there and call me when you get to Florida. We'll make plans to hang out in a few months when we're on tour."

"Will do bro. Good luck with recording... you'll have to let me know how it goes... and tell the guys I'll see 'em later."

I nodded, "Will do Air."

And with that he backed his car out of the drive, hollering "Bye bro", as he approached the end and right before he turned his music on so loud that he wouldn't have been able to hear anything I said back. He reached his arm out the window and waved one last time.

I waved back... and he was gone.

I'd stood there that day, watching as Aaron drove off down the hillside and for several minutes after. Just stood... silently, peacefully... still staring at the house. And in those few simple moments, like a whisper in the wind that comes and goes quickly and is easy to miss if you're not paying attention, the realization hit me.

The joy hit me.

And it wasn't because of all the fun times we'd had... or the fights... or the money the show had earned us, or any of that really. It was because, for the first time ever, I realized that I'd watched each of my four siblings drive out of my home that day... and that during those departures, Aaron's especially (because that's when I would have been most tempted), I had stopped myself, or rather, for the first time had not even had to try to stop myself, from offering all sorts of advice. Advice that they really didn't want, and often times really didn't need to hear from me. Career advice or financial advice, advice on how to deal with agents or record companies. Advice on how to be healthier (because God knows I've always been the picture of health), or relationship advice (ha!) or just advice on life in general... because again, you know my life has always been so awesome... I'm just the king of people who should be handing out life advice.

Yeah, I believe they call that 'ass'vice.

And the reason I hadn't felt the need to do any of that... because at some point during the 4 weeks of filming HOC, and spending countless hours stuck in a house with Leslie, BJ, Aaron and Angel... at some point during that time I had realized, without even knowing it, that I didn't have to be everything to everyone all the time.

And that was the day that it all really hit. As Aaron drove away and I was left alone again... alone without my siblings being around me 24/7, pretty much the same way I'd spent the past 13 years of my life, but with a different view about it... that I didn't have to be a father figure and a financial suppor or a career consultant and a life coach... or any of those for that matter.

It hit me, for the first time, maybe really ever, that all I really had to be was a big brother. And I don't know how I missed it. Except... that HOC is what made me find that realization.

That all I had to be to them was a big brother. The kind that invites his siblings to spend a few weeks in his LA home... without cameras would have been preferable... but oh well... just so we could hang out. The kind that laughs at when his brother puts his pants on and someone's panties fall out the leg... or makes fun of him when he's so drunk he's barfing out the car door onto the side of the road. The kind of big brother who will scream at his little brother because it's the middle of the damn night and his music's too loud and he took pictures in his car with MY ex girlfriend... and the kind of brother that will beat a boy up over that crap... (he deserved it!), but at the same the kind of brother who will carry his little bro piggy back into the hospital when he did something really stupid and injured himself really badly... and I didn't even make fun of him when I should have. And I really was worried.

And I realized I could be the kind of brother to encourage the hell out of his sister's desire to learn how to cook... and try everything she serves, even if I didn't like some of it. Or the type to sit with his other sister on a bad night when she's crying for hours, just to reassure her that she really is an awesome person. Or the kind who will be super protective when it comes to his baby sister and her boyfriends. But also the kind who's not about to clean up his sister's dog's shit... and sometimes knows that girls need to learn things the hard way.

Yeah... I realized all of that.

But mostly, the most joyful thing... and the thing that made this a moment of great joy... is realizing that I could just let them go.

I realized for the first time that the words Kevin had said to me all those years before... had been a true warning. Which is something I should have guessed... Kevin's never wrong. He told me once, years ago, that you can't be a father to "four grown assed individuals who already have father's of their own." And of course, at the time, he was talking about us (the other guys in BSB... and me)... but it works here too. My siblings already had a father... all I needed to be was a brother.

It was like a weight lifted off my shoulders... letting go of all the added anxieties I'd always felt about their lives. They were all grown ups... bound to go off and make mistakes of their own... without me.

And for the first time in my life... I was filled with joy to see them go.

The second moment of greates sorrow in my life occured in June 2008.

And again... yes, there were a lot of little moments of sadness and difficult times that occured in the years between. I know. My solo album never did as well as I'd hoped. Then there was my whole relationship with 'she who must not be named', a DUI and accusations of abuse that were 100% false and yet still 100% painful, and then... there was Kevin's departure from the Backstreet Boys.

And sure, each one of those events changed my life in some small way... some even in bigger ways, no doubt about that... but in the end, the events of June 2008 overshadow them all.

So then... 2008?

Well it started out pretty admittedly awesome. We had an amazing few months touring with Unbreakable, the album was selling fairly well and our popularity overseas was pretty much the stuff of legends. No seriously! Legends. I wish we could have ahd that kind of a fanbase in the United States too... like we'd had with Millennium, even if only for a little while. It just felt so different going overseas to countries in Asia or Europe than it did coming home to any of the states. It was an awesome feeling really... knowing we were still loved in that kind of way, even in our 'old' age.

And then March came, and with March came the devestating news that Howie's father, Hoke, had been diagnosed with cancer. And not just 'cancer' cancer. Not like the kind you can treat and maybe get better. No. This was the kind of cancer that unfortunately had already spread to his brain and his lungs and so, it was deemed "terminal". A word that I still hate to this day. Regardless of it's meaning... in terms of health, or at an airport or bus depot... to me it all just sounds so final... so much like demise.

But I digress... to know Hoke Dorough was to know kindness. To tell you the truth, I can't remember meeting Howie's dad for the first time, despite trying very hard to do just that. To this day I maintain that it's because he treated me on that day exactly the same way he treated me every single day after that... which is to say, from day one, he treated me like his own son. There was never a time when I felt uncomfortable or awkward in Hoke's presence. Never like I needed to please him or be too careful or act like too much of an adult. And never was there a time when I felt like I was unwanted or a nuisance, or anything other than just feeling like I belonged. It was cool.

Of course AJ and I always joked that it was probably just because he had so many children he couldn't remember which ones were his anymore and so he just treated us all the same so he wouldn't get into trouble.

I remember how horrible it was watching Howie go through the emotions of losing his father. Knowing we were overseas, as far away from being there for him as we could possibly be and knowing the place Howie wanted to be the most was there for his father. Our conversations on a daily basis pretty constantly turned to the fact that we all knew we would eventually have to do something... cancel dates... cancel shows... cancel the whole damned tour even... if we'd had to we would have done it. Whatever it took to get Howie home to his family before the inevitable occured. Howie assured us constantly that he'd let us know when he thought it was time... when he was ready... when he knew his father was getting closer to the end. But it was Brian who eventually pulled the plug on the South African tour dates. And for that we were all grateful... for Howie of course.

It wasn't anything we'd ever planned on doing. It wasn't something we'd wanted to do, but it had to be done. And we would have done it for any of us. Of course we felt horrible for the fans... and horrible because it was the one place we'd really anticipated going, but in the end we could have cared less really. In the end, Howie was by his father's side on the morning of June 22nd when he took his final breaths and passed peacefully in his sleep. And in the end, none of us, including Howie, would have changed a thing.

And that's what life's supposed to be... no regrets.

About that at least.

Because though I can tell you for certain that Hoke's cancer diagnosis and his death were the worst things that happened that spring... they weren't the only bad things that happened...

I still remember that day like it was yesterday... sitting in that office after the doctor left, only instead of counting the tiles at that point, all I could think was that life couldn't get much crappier than spending my entire day wasting my time in a doctor's office.

How wrong I had been. The next two days proved that in so many, many ways.

Have you ever gone through some sort of medical testing? If you have, you'll understand all this... if not, suffice it to say, it's pretty frigging awful.

First there were all of the blood draws that made me feel like a damned pincushion and left me completely wiped out. They drew blood from my fingers, sucked blood out of both my arms, inserted IV's in one of my wrists and ended up having to redraw blood twice when the nurse didn't get enough the first time.

Then there was the EKG... not bad in itself... just a machine that checks your pulse and measures your heart waves or whatever. But what sucks about that, they stick 5,000 sticky things to your chest, neck and up under your armpits that are clearly meant to stay there for the rest of your life... or at least meant to take off all hair and eight layers of skin with them when you have to remove them... in the shower... with liquor.

Next there were the MRI's and the CAT scans which again... not bad... unless you're a claustrophobic. And well, "Hello, my name is Nick and I'm a claustrophobic."

And then there's the early morning stress test. At 5 am. When they stick 5,000 more damn sticky things to your chest, and make you run on a treadmill for like 4 hours... or until your heart collapses, whichever comes first. I didn't get to either one though because seriously, I lasted 25 minutes before I gave up and told my doctor that I really wasn't going to make it without my coffee.

And then lastly, there's the echocardiogram. This is where I had to lay on a hospital bed in all sorts of fun uncomfortable positions while a hot radiologist poked around on me with an ultrasound machine for about 30 minutes. This one wasn't bad though... I mean, there was the hot doctor for one thing... she was hot. And it was kinda cool you know, to lay in a bed and listen to your heartbeat for a half hour. It was weird too though... watching my own aorta flap about on a screen while the hot radiologist made comments I couldn't understand to my doctor who looked a smidge more concerned than I hoped he would.

And then... the wait.

And the wait is where the real sorrow came in. Because waiting is the absolute worst. It's like... I dunno really... it's like you're waiting for the bottom to finally drop out from under you. Waiting for the earth to fall away beneath your feet as you slip into the depths of some horrible black hole. It's like you're waiting for your death sentence and you don't even know for sure that anything's wrong... you just know for sure that something has to be. Because why else would you feel the way you do and why else would the doctor order 80 kajillion tests?

And so I waited. And the two days they'd told me to expect to wait turned into three... which turned into four... and on the fifth, I kinda lost it.

And what happened the rest of that night is what brought about that second biggest sorrow. I won't forget the moments that followed as I climbed in my car and drove to the closest bar. And no, I shouldn't have been driving, even at that point. Nor will I forget the hours that followed during which I consumed more alcohol than I'd consumed in years. Tequila, rum, whiskey - you name it, I drank it. And that's not where it ended either.

No, sadly, it's not.

I remember stumbling into my house that night after I'd driven myself home... yes driven again - insane I know. And stupid. I still don't know how I made it... but for the grace of God go I... I guess. I just did. And then I remember stumbling to my bathroom to puke my guts out. And after all of that, as if all of that weren't enough... I remember snorting that line of coke... and of course, their was another after that one... and still another one after that.

And at some point I distinctly remember thinking 'I am going to die.' I distinctly remember thinking that all the shit I was doing that night was surely going to kill me. But at the same time, I didn't care. And that sucks. I didn't care because as far as I was concerned I was already dying. I just knew that any minute I would get the call from my doctor and he would tell me some sort of horrible news. And so why not just go ahead and kill myself?

Why not?

And sometime after that... sometime after the forth or fifth line of cocaine... I passed out.

Looking back now, the memories of that night bring me nothing but sorrow. Nothing but sadness. Even though I survived (only by some sort of miracle) and even though in the end I'm sure that night, like all the other disappointing, disheartening, depressing moments in my life, somehow made me stronger... there is still no single part of that night that I can be proud of.

And that sucks.

In the end, a few days later, the doctor called and asked if I could come into his office... and at the time I was just certain it was coming... my death sentence.

But it didn't.

Not really.

Instead I spent nearly two hours sitting on the same table in that same exam room, the doctor sitting across from me looking more serious than ever before as he described to me exactly what cardiomyopathy is, what had likely caused it, and what it would mean for my future. And let me tell ya -- if it sucks finding out you have a serious disease, I can tell you it sucks even more knowing you did it to yourself.

I listened as Dr. Rolando explained just how close I probably really did come to killing myself that night, and really honestly many other nights before that. And I listened as he explained, not chastised or berated... just straight forward and to the point, how seriously risky it was for me each and every single time I decided to go out partying. And how I really needed to make a choice; change my life... or shorten it immensely. Life or death. He told me then... "you change your life and there's a possibility you can make things better, but if you don't, you will die. "

And then he listed, by name and age, people just like me... celebrities just like me as well as normal every day people just like me who had worked hard to get where they were in life, but unfortunately, had partied harder and they'd all died because they didn't take care of themselves and in the end their hearts gave out without any warning at all.

And that was the difference. That most of those individuals hadn't been given the warning I'd been given... or the chance to change their lives. And if they had, most of those who'd died had ignored it.

And then Dr. Rolando said the words that mattered most to me. The words that stuck with me most... and even still do to this day... he told me that he did not want to see me end up like those people. He told me that he wanted to see me live. He told me that he cared. And somehow, though I don't know why... that made me want to live.

And it was the beginning of a long and painful journey filled with as many setbacks as strides forward and as many pitfalls as mountaintops to stand on. But it was also a journey that would eventually, without fail, lead to the amazing future I'm living right now.

Through the sorrow grows the joy.

I'll never be proud of those moments... but they sure did change me into a man I can be proud of.

My daughter has a heart condition.

Faith.

She does.

It's not a surprise to us.

Truth is, Jenna and I knew there was a strong possibility of this before we even began to start the process of adoption. It was there in black and white, right in the letters on our computer screen beneath her name and the photo we fell in love with. It read quite clearly, "... possible VSD, ASD or other heart condition...".

And we still said okay. It didn't scare us. Well... that's not true. I should say rather, that it didn't scare Jenna. Not badly anyway. And then somewhere along the line she finally convinced me that I shouldn't be afraid either. Especially since there was no way to really know until we talked to a doctor. Which we did today... and now we know for sure.

I know we said from the beginning that upon the advice of our friends and family, we would be careful to trust too quickly the opinion of any doctor or medical professional outside of the United States. However, we were able to meet today with the pediatrician who oversees all of the children in the orphanage, and he seemed incredibly knowledgeable and gave us a ton of very forthcoming information. He shared with us the most recent test results for our daughter, from just a couple months ago, and gave us a full medical history of everything he knew and all that was in her charts. It was clear Dr. Karpulitz knew what he was talking about, and so we felt confident walking away with the diagnosis he gave us.

Tetralogy of Fallot.

And if I ever thought cardiomyopathy was confusing, which I did at first, well, this diagnosis takes the cake on confusion. Cardiomyopathy is nothing compared to all that goes into explaining the condition our daughter suffers from. Not to say that I couldn't try, but I won't try... at least not in any detailed kind of manner. Suffice it to say that the doctor explained to us that our daughter has at least one hole in her heart, at least. More likely two. And that at this point the valve that carries blood from her heart to her lungs is incredibly narrow, which means that her lungs don't always get the amount of healthy oxygenated blood that they need, which isn't good. He told us that often, children with Tetrology of Fallot appear cyanotic, or bluish in color, and have to be careful not to over-exert themselves because of this. He mentioned, he said, only to prepare us for when we finally do get to meet her. He said that a calming environment will be best for Faith at least in the beginning.

It was all hard to hear. I mean, it's hard enough just to hear that your child actually has a heart condition... but then to know and have to accept the fact that our child is really quite sick and we can't just go straight to her and take her home right now and make everything okay for her... that really, really sucks. And that wasn't all of it either. Then Doctor Karpulitz informed us that Faith has been hospitalized twice in her short lifetime for pnuemonia. All I could think of the entire time the doctor was discussing her experiences during those hospitalizations (low blood oxygen levels, breathing treatments, etc...) was that no child should ever have to go through any of that without a parent to comfort them and let them know that everything will be okay. And hopefully, very soon, Faith would never have to go through any of it alone again.

The last thing he told us before we left was how incredibly important it will be for Faith to see a cardiologist as soon as we touch down in the states. How important it will be for her to have surgery very soon after arriving home... and how awesome she should do afterwards... how her life will be completely different and so, so much better. I smiled and grabbed Jenna's hand where she sat beside me, knowing that Jenna had spent hours upon hours on the phone since the very moment we received our travel date setting up appointments with every imaginable type of doctor.

Jenna had been prepared.

Have I mentioned yet that without my wife I would be completely lost in all of this? It's true. I don't think I would have ever thought to make those appointments so far in advance without knowing. And I definitely wouldn't have thought to ask our translator this morning as Jenna did first thing, if it was possible to meet with Faith's doctor here in the Ukraine. It's like for the most part I'm just along for the ride and Jenna is leading the way. And the waiting is killing me, especially because I feel so helpless to do anything to help. Not that this isn't killing Jenna too. I can tell she's exhausted, both mentally and physically. We both are.

We finally arrived last night after an all day train ride, to the tiny village outside of Kharkev where Faith's orphanage is located. And just so you know, I consider myself a pretty seasoned traveler. I know all of you are probably thinking 'No shit Nick, tell us something we didn't know', but really... there is a point here -- I mean, I have spent the better part of my life, 22 years to be exact if you consider I'm 35 now and I was 13 when I joined the Backstreet Boys, traveling all over the world. My wife on the other hand... not so much. She has been to Europe. The end. No, seriously, with the exception of our honeymoon to Europe, life has simply had other plans, and circumstances beyond either of our control has kept us from ever traveling together, until now.

All this to say that with as un-traveled as my wife is and even with as well traveled as I am, I don't think either of us could possibly have been prepared for where this journey has taken us. The week in Kiev that taxed us both of energy and the train ride that was long and draining and now this new adventure. We decided months ago that we would take the same route as other adoptive families in this region and stay in the village in a small apartment rather than travel a couple hours to and from the city every day to visit our daughter. It just seemed right. We should, fingers, toes and every other body part crossed, be meeting Faith tomorrow, and after that we want to be as close as we can be for the next few weeks until we can take her home. We don't want to have to take a taxi from the city every single day. We want to be able to do what other families have done, which is to walk a couple blocks to the orphanage to visit Faith two or three times throughout the days. We want to spend as much time as possible with our baby girl. We want to get to know her and love her... and we want to do that even if it means giving up the luxury of the five star hotels we're used to, in the comfort of the big cities with the fancy restaurants and shopping malls, for the tiny apartment we checked into last night.

It was strange though... strange walking into that apartment, it's ugly linoleum floors with the bedspread that didn't even begin to match the window curtains, the wallpaper that could have been from the 1920's and a counch that looked even older. Then there was the kitchen with the tiny refrigerator and two range stove and the bathroom with the shower that even I wouldn't stand in barefoot and the toilet that Jenna refuses to sit on... strange that a man like me who has spent most of his entire life staying in the most expensive suites in five star hotels could take it all in and in that moment, be incredibly grateful for it. I think that was the moment I realized that this journey has changed me in ways I never could have imagined. It's made me appreciate and value things so much more.

This afternoon after our morning visit with Dr. Karpulitz, we finally visited the orphanage. We couldn't go in of course because we don't have the proper credentials yet. Soon... just not yet. But we still stopped by to see the place where our daughter has spent the past 15 months of her life. The place that hopefully we'll take her out of in the next couple of weeks. It wasn't like I'd expected, and I don't know exactly how to explain that. Not that I'd necessarily thought the building would be some delapidated prison or something... not that I'm sure exactly what I'd expected, even after seeing pictures on other family's sites, but it looked a lot like an elementary school building looks like in the US, or a library, or just, you know any random small public building. There were no bars on the windows or barbed wire fences surrounding the property. Nothing to signify the magnitude of the lives that the children inside are forced to live. In fact, there was a very nice playground where several children were playing while caregivers looked on. Other caregivers and some individuals who were likely adoptive parents were taking smaller babies for walks in strollers. The fences that lined the property were colorful and bright. You wouldn't necessarily know, if you didn't know that this was the kind of place it really was.

But we knew better.

We knew that the chances of our daughter having ever seen the sunlight or playing on that playground or being strolled down the colorful fenced lined sidewalks, were slim. We knew that children in Faith's condition were not cared for the way that other, "normal" children were. We knew that most often children like Faith got left in cribs for the majority of the day, only taken out for feeding and changing, with little to do and no one to cuddle and comfort them. Their emotional needs most often went unmet and their cries more often than not, unanswered... and it wasn't because no one cared, it was mostly because the caregivers hands were too full or because they didn't know how to give the proper kind of care that children like Faith really needed. The kind of care we planned on giving her very soon.

After we left the orphanage we walked around for several hours, just trying to waste some time. The surrounding village wasn't much different from the orphanage. Not quite what I'd expected... not bad... just different. The houses were old and colorful, clothes hanging on lines outside. The streets were long narrow country roads, filled with potholes, which didn't seem to matter much because most people walked or rode bikes. There were small markets here and there where meat and vegetables were sold and where we bought our bottled water to cook the dinner of Ramen noodles we plan on having tonight here in our apartment. There were few buildings larger than small houses and the only thing that really stood out in the tiny community was a soccer facility located right next door to the orphanage. This stood out in stark contrast, surrounded by a large chain link fence, an area filled with sprawling homes and lush fields where the team practiced daily. It was kind of sad actually, knowing that such a wealthy population could live right next to something so sad and not seem to notice at all.

I thought about that as we walked along on the quiet streets all the way back to the apartment... about how I hoped in my life, as fortunate as I'd been in fame and celebrity, that at least along the way I'd showed my heart by helping others. That if nothing else, in the end at least I could do enough good that no one would think of me as a person who built fences up around my life just large enough to block out the view of the world around me.

We've been back to the apartment for an hour now... Jenna is cooking our Ramen noodles on the stove and I'm hanging out on the old tattered sofa looking up as much info as I can find about Tetralogy of Fallot online. I sent an email to Brian when we first got home;

Hey B,

Well Bri, it looks like we officially have the newest member of the Healthy Heart Club on our hands. We were able to meet with the doctor this morning and found out that Faith has definitely been diagnosed with some pretty significant heart issues. Nothing that can't be taken care of with surgery... but still pretty damn crazy. I'm simultaneously at peace with the fact that I know we've got some of the greatest doctors at home... and absolutely scared to death.

We visited the orphanage today... just the outside. It wasn't too horrible. I'm just ready to get our baby and come home.

We miss everyone so much... tell Baylee we said good luck in his tournament this weekend and we're sorry we can't be there.

We should get to meet our girl tomorrow and then we'll of course send a much more detailed email!

Nick

... and Brian just messaged me back.

"Hey Jenna," I holler to where she's slaving over the hot stove in her t-shirt and my boxer shorts, dancing to "Don't Stop Believing" on her Ipod. I laugh as I drink up the sight of her and smile because at least it's good to know that one of us still has a sense of humor in all of this.

She turns and catches me smiling at her and laughs, smiling back with a wink.

"You wanna come read B-rok's email with me?" I ask and she nods, turning off the music before walking over and curling up on the couch next to me as I lay the laptop between us and we read together;

Hey Nick (and Jenn too)!

We're sorry to hear about Faith's heart... but you're right about the fact that we have the best doctor's here. Leighanne and I are gonna get to work immediately to make sure you guys get the absolute best of the best. I know you're scared man... but don't let your fears make these moments any less precious or special. Save your fears for when you can get home and really take care of them. In the meantime just know that our thoughts and prayers are with you guys and we can't wait until you to get back with our beautiful new niece so that we can meet her and fill her up on lots of love!

Things are good here at home. The house is being well taken care of and Leighanne told me to tell you to tell Jenna (you get the point) that she peeked in on the nursery when she stopped by yesterday to let the dogs out and she was IM-pressed! Apparently it's beautiful and you have one lucky little girl to get to hang out in it.

Anyway bro, Good luck tomorrow, we'll be with you in spirit and in prayer.

Send pictures as soon as you can and let us know how everything goes!

We love you guys!

Brian

P.S. -- Baylee said thank you.

P.P.S -- Jay just called to let us know they're inducing Rochelle on Monday the 22nd and to "pass it on"... looks like Backstreet Baby #7 will be here pretty soon! Hopefully just in time to welcome Backstreet Baby #6 home to Florida!

I close my computer and smile at my wife who smiles back at me.

"I can't wait to get this girl home to meet all of her crazy uncles," Jenna whispers as she stands up and walks back over to the stove, lifting the bowls of noodles she prepared and bringing them over to the coffee table. She hands me mine and sits back down beside me.

"Me neither babe... me neither."

And I realize it then... that even though the last few days... well really the entire last two weeks that we've spent here in the Ukraine have made me miss home more than I've ever missed it before, they've also made me appreciate the mundaneness of what has become my everyday life recently. I miss waking up in my bed and reading my morning paper with a nice hot cup of coffee. I miss my friends and my family. I miss my dogs. I miss washing the car and watching tv. I miss microwave pizza and gatorade and the smell of fresh cut summer grass.

All the things I used to miss when we were on tour... I miss them right now like crazy. But I appreciate them oh so much more.

And I'm totally okay with missing all of that for now if it means making a better future for Faith.

I met the girl who's now my wife a little more than 5 years ago in the small suburb of Brentwood, Tennessee, just outside of Nashville. At the time, the Backstreet Boys were in between touring with Unbreakable and recording This is Us and somewhere along the line I'd gotten a wild hair to record a solo country album. Now I'm still not exactly sure where the idea came from, and of course you know by now that the album never actually came to be, but at the time it seemed like a good idea, which made moving to Nashville seem like an even better idea. So I bought a house in Brentwood to temporarily settle down in the hopes of immersing myself in the country music culture.

Or so I thought.

Looking back I have to believe it was fate stepping in, leading me to that little house on Oden Court, in the middle of nowhere. At least, in the middle of nowhere important. God knows I certainly could have afforded the luxury of much more... a house right smack in the middle of Nashville even, with the likes of the Carrie Underwoods and the Brad Paisleys and the Kenny Chesneys. But I wanted something a little less... something a little more down to earth. And Brentwood was definitely just that. I mean, nothing about the city of Brentwood screamed to the partying personality of one, Nick Carter. It was, in fact, a very calming city, filled tree-lined parks and walking trails that spanned for miles, and surrounded by small local businesses and an incredibly popular YMCA. So what I mainly ended up doing during my days in B-Wood was simply walking around becoming "one with nature", and exercising. Which was exactly what I needed at that time in my life.

Over time it became quite clear to me that Brentwood was a little place in my life that happened just at the time in my life when I needed it most.

And now I know why.

Of course, I could sit here and lie and tell you that meeting Jenna was like love at first sight. Or I could paint some big elaborate picture of how I realized the right away that I was going to spend the rest of my life loving her. That she would be the woman I would marry and have children with... but that's not the case at all.

It wasn't love at first sight, and there was no grand moment of realization for me. Honestly, at that point in my life I would have laughed my ass off if anyone had tried to tell me the two of us would ever fall in love.

The truth was, on the day we met, love was the very last thing on my mind. I'd spent my whole day unloading boxes from the moving van and I was sweaty and exhausted and I almost didn't even answer the door when she knocked. But I did, and there she stood. My next door neighbor - a sweet, kind-hearted country girl, who apparently still believed in old fashioned values; like baking a cake to welcome someone new into the neighborhood. And when she stood there on my front porch that afternoon in her plaid button down blouse and blue jean skirt with the bright orange flip flops that didn't match at all but were likely comfortable as hell, and she handed me the lopsided chocolate cake before introducing herself by saying, "Hey, I'm Jenna, I live next door... just so you know, you don't have to actually eat the cake if you don't want to, but I definitely had to, you know, deliver it... because well... it's tradition"... and we both laughed as I thanked her and she waved goodbye, heading quickly back in the direction of her own home, the very last thing I ever would have expected was to someday fall in love with and marry her. Especially when at that point in my life I didn't even believe in true love or marriage or any of the number of things that came along with either of them.

To this day I can't tell you exactly when or how, or why we fell in love. I just remember how our friendship began, on that windy spring day, with that simple gesture of kind tradition. And I remember how after that, we would always stop to talk to each other anytime we saw each other, and being neighbors, we saw each other quite often. The best part though, when we stopped to talk, it was always simple and easy... like we'd been talking for years and had no worries about getting past the awkwardness of first impressions. It was true, our earliest conversations were short and sweet and consisted mainly of the little things like the weather or our dogs, but we quickly moved past all that onto more advanced topics, like how irritating the crotchety old guy across the street could be.

And then, one day, a couple months after we first met, we spent an entire afternoon sitting on my back deck and talking for hours while Rocko, Olivia and Samson (the dogs of course) skittered around the backyard. It was the first time we'd ever really talked... I mean, really, really talked, and in between glasses of fresh orange juice and rounds of fetch with the pups, I learned so much more about her.

We were a lot alike it turned out, Jenna and me. We both grew up in large families, although admittedly, my four siblings had nothing on her nine brothers - the youngest of whom was 17 years younger than she was. We were both the oldest in our families, and nearly the same age (I was born in January of '80, she was born in March). We both grew up in broken homes where domestic violence was a frequent and unfortunate occurence - though again, my situation paled in comparison to hers. Her father sounded far worse than my mother ever could have been. And then, neither of us ever really got the chance to experience a childhood, or more especially, the chance to grow up and like a normal teenager.

At the time in my life when I was being thrust into show business, Jenna was expected to help raise her younger brothers while her parents spent time on what Jenna eye rollingly referred to a their "2 year vacation to get their acts together." Otherwise known as one long assed stint in rehab.

Of course, Jenna had been right. There was so very much left to learn. For both of us.

We started spending more time together after that day... watching movies, having cookouts when the weather permitted of course, and taking the dogs for walks together. I honestly can't tell you when things changed, when we went from being neighbors to being more than just neighbors, honestly, I think it just kind of happened gradually over time. Looking back I can remember little moments... moments when I'd be walking by my kitchen window and I'd peek out just to see if she was in her yard, or when I'd come home from being out somewhere and I'd check to see if her car was in the driveway as I drove by. And I'm positive there was a time when my heart skipped a beat or two every time I did see her there in her garden, or each time her car was there in the driveway... I just don't think I noticed it for what it was at the time.

A few months after meeting her, after spending time with her and talking to her, Jenna volunteered to watch over the house while I went away for a few weeks on tour. I gladly accepted, feeling better just knowing there'd be someone there to grab the papers from the porch and look after the place. My friends thought I was nuts trusting a total stranger to look after my belongings... but that was just it... I did Jenna. And trust wasn't something I handed out easily. And of course, when I returned home to a safe house, a stack of neatly piled mail and newspapers, and a freshly baked cake just waiting for my return, it became easier to trust her every time I left.

I mean, even I, cold-hearted Nick, can't pretend it didn't feel good coming home to someone... even if that someone was technically just my next door neighbor.

And then, things changed. I remember coming home that September afternoon, two days earlier than anticipated due to a cancelation in our scheduling. I remember being beyond thrilled and looking forward to a few weeks off before the next leg of touring. I pulled into my driveway and noticed right away that Jenna's car was parked in hers.

"Awesome!" I thought. I could go ahead and get my mail so I wouldn't have to bother her when she was getting ready for her night shift. And of course... I could see her too.

I distinctly rememeber the beat of my heart... it's rhythm speeding up rather drastically, as I waited on her front porch after ringing the bell. It took a few minutes for her to come, she was dressed in a pair of sweats and a tight white t-shirt, her hair disheveled the way it always was after we'd gone for a long walk or to the Y to excercise together.

And I remember thinking in that moment, for the first time ever, that she looked incredibly hot.

A year later came perhaps the greatest moment of joy in my life to that date.

Our wedding day.

October 31st, 2011.

A Halloween wedding with a theme to match. The church decorated with fall foliage and pumpkins. Flowers of all different yellows and oranges lining the altar. The groomsmen dressed in traditional black tuxes and the bridesmaids in bright orange dresses with boquets of white carnations. And I stood there at the front, surrounded by my best friends, watching as Jenna walked down the aisle, in her flowing white gown with her own boquet of bright orange roses, and a smile that lit up the room, and I realized in that moment that I'd never been happier in my whole entire life.

I stood there and listened as the priest spoke. I repeated my vows and she repeated hers and we both spoke the words, "I do" that would join us together... forever... and we kissed more passionately than we'd ever kissed before.

And I never thought I'd hear the words "Mr. and Mrs. Nickolas Carter"... but I heard them then, and I never knew it was even possible to be so happy. But I so was.

And then the reception where the tables were decorated with jack-o-laterns and our caked was topped with the characters Jack and Sally from Tim Burton's Nightmare Before Christmas, and though we danced our first dance to Jenna's favorite song -- "Feels Like Home" by Chantal Kreviazuk -- we rounded out the night with some good old fashioned Monster Mash and Thriller.

It was the most amazing, awesome, incredible night of my life...

And in it, I felt true joy.

I met my daughter today.

My God.

I can't believe I'm finally getting to say this... finally getting to write this part of our story down. Frankly, I don't even really know how to put into words how it feels. All of the overwhelming emotions that still, even hours later, fill my heart to the point of near explosion.

I guess I'll start with this morning.

We arrived at the orphanage at about 11:30, after taking a nerve-wracking taxi ride through the pothole-filled streets of the village. And I always thought airplanes made me sick to my stomach... whoa boy. I do not recommend swervy taxi rides through pothole-ish streets with a driver clearly used to navigating the craters (as evidenced by the 50 mph speeds!) to anyone. Ever.

I digress. Our translator, Alexei, and our adoption coordinator, Naomi, met us outside the gates as soon as we arrived to give us all the information they thought we'd need before going inside. Naomi, love her heart, tried her best to prepare us not only for the culture differences we would encounter inside, but in subtle ways it was clear she was trying to prepare us for the things we could never have anticipated.

And then, it was time to go inside.

And it was strange finally going through those gates after what felt like so many days of being forced to stand on the outside looking in... feeling like we didn't even belong there. It definitely felt chilling to finally be able to cross that line from being an outsider to an insider. It's weird though, the whole time we were inside I had this feeling that I couldn't quite shake. It was a feeling like I was going somewhere I shouldn't be going. I still didn't belong... and I never would. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was getting ready to see things I shouldn't be seeing. I think my heart knew before we even entered the doors that this place would be embedded in my mind forever.

When we first got inside we were met by a woman who we later learned was the director of the orphanage. Thankfully we had Alexei and Naomi to translate for us, but it still bothered me as I listened to them speak to the woman in Russian and of course couldn't understand a thing. Unsure of what they were saying and whether it was good or bad made me nervous. The woman looked at us with a kind smile though and my thoughts eased if only just a little.

I squeezed Jenna's hand as we were led down one long narrow hallway, and then another... and another. It felt like a maze of gray, dull colored walls, each disappearing into the next. We passed by rooms on the way and I glanced into a few. I couldn't see much, but what I did see was enough. Cribs lining walls in stark white rooms, no visible babies which meant they were probably laying inside, all but forgotten. I shivered at the thought.

Finally we arrived in a tiny room with a couch and a rug and several other chairs lining the walls. The director and Naomi left, closing the door behind them as Alexei took a seat across from us.

"They'll be bringing her down in just a few minutes."

I could feel Jenna's pulse quicken as she squeezed my hand even tighter. I looked at her for the first time really since we'd gotten out of the taxi. Her face was pale and her eyes were already glistening with tears. I felt my own heart race as I squeezed her hand back. She looked at me and tried to smile. I mouthed the words, "You ready?"

She nodded, smiling for real then, tears and all.

"You?"

I gave my best version of a forced smile and nodded back... even though I wasn't really. I don't think I could ever be ready for the moment I knew was coming. Truth be told I was more anxious than excited. More scared than thrilled. Less "ready" and more ready to get this over with. And I know that sounds awful, but the process had been a long and difficult one and now, I just wanted to get my daughter and go home.

When Jenna and I were married in October 2011, we hadn't talked a whole lot about having children. Not that we avoided the subject or steered clear of the conversation... it's just, I think it was the simple fact that we were happy with us. And because of that, it was like there was this unspoken knowledge that everything else would work itself out in the future.

Little did we know that the future would come much sooner than either of us could have imagined. And never could we have predicted how it all would end... in the culmination of both the very best and the very worst days of our lives together.

It was a cold night in December when Jenna came to me in my studio, wrapped carefully in a bath towel, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. I turned around when I heard her come in the door. She smiled timidly as I reached out to take her hand before pulling her close to sit in my lap where I kissed her bare shoulders until she shivered and squirmed. I smiled, loving how it made me feel to turn her on.

Nick!" She said suddenly, as if she'd just remembered why she'd come in the room in the first place. She stood from my lap, a serious look crossing her face.

"What?" I was concerned now and I'm sure my face echoed the seriousness in hers. Jenna was playful and fun, like me. Serious wasn't her thing... at least when it wasn't absolutely necessary.

"I need to tell you something..." she whispered, "and I need you to not freak out."

"Ohhh-Kay." I responded, my concern growing now that I could clearly see the nervousness written on her face.

She sat down on the chair across from me and held out her hands... the hands she'd been holding together since she'd come in the room. I reached out to take hold of them and in that moment realized she was holding something out to me.

"What's that?" I asked, staring down at her hands, even though in retrospect I knew exactly what it was.

She took a deep breath and sighed, "They're pregnancy tests."

She held her hands out again, even closer this time so that I had a good glimpse of each stick. Of the two blue lines. Of the plus sign. Of the definitive "pregnant" response.

I looked at her, her head down, not looking back at me. "When did you find out?" I asked still trying to wrap my mind around what all of this meant.

She shook her head, finally looking up. Our eyes met and for the first time I noticed there were tears in hers. "Today," she whispered and then quickly continued, "I'm sorry Nick. So sorry. I-I-I know this wasn't our plan and I didn't mean for this to happen either. I-I just... I don't know what to say."

I stared it her for a few moments, thinking only of how beautiful she looked in that moment. How vulnerable and radiant she was, and as stupid as this may sound to you... as cliche as it may be, in that moment the song "She's Having My Baby" started playing in my mind and she looked more beautiful than ever to me.

I looked at her, leaned my head back against the headrest of my office chair. "Are you happy?"

She bit her lip and shrugged her shoulders ever so slightly and sighed one more big sigh. "Honestly?" She whispered. I nodded. "Honestly," she repeated and she finally smiled... "Nick, I really am. I mean... no we didn't plan this, and I'm scared as hell, and not exactly ready to go through pregnancy and labor and and becoming a mommy. But then I think, who is? All I know is, I love you Nick. And I love our love and I just know that the two of us are gonna love this baby so much."

I couldn't help but smile. I pulled Jenna back into my lap and kissed her again, just the way I had before. She looked at me a little confused. "So... are you happy?"

"Hell yes!" I said as I continued planting kisses along her bare neckline, "We're gonna have a baby. I mean, you're gonna have a baby... but man, I'm gonna be a daddy! How could I not be happy about this?" The simple truth was, I'd always loved children. I'd always wanted to have children, even back when my mind doubted love and marriage and commitment... I could always picture myself being a good dad. And I knew Jenna would be an amazing mom.

We could totally pull this off.

It was Jenna's turn to kiss me, her body finally relaxing in my arms as the nerves faded away. I carried her to our bedroom and tucked her carefully into bed before climbing in beside her for a long winter's night. I knew there'd be long months ahead... long nights. But I was ready.

Jenna's pregnancy was textbook. Easy.

I mean, sure I had to hold her hair back during the loss of numerous breakfasts and deal with hormonal mood swings, and run out at the oddest hours of the night for the strangest cravings (I mean, only a pregnant woman could summon up the desire for Key Lime Pie and a greasy cheeseburger at precisely 3:28 am on a Sunday night and get it), but all of these were to be expected and nothing was out of the ordinary at all.

Once the morning sickness passed and the cravings abated, or rather, once I at least had the sense to keep our pantry stocked with her most craved foods, all seemed right in the Carter household. Doctor's appointments went well and showed that our tiny bean was growing just as he should be.

Yep. He. Our little boy!

My favorite part of each doctor's visit was hearing the heart beat and seeing our little man moving around like crazy on the sonogram screen. Like he was already a member of the Backstreet Boys practicing up on his dance moves. It was even more fun laying in bed beside Jenna at night and feeling him kick and wiggle inside when I would lay my head on her stomach and sing to him. I sang everything from Michael Jackson to House on Pooh Corner to Enya... yep, Aj would be so proud.

In May we flew to LA where I spent the month recording for our new album and Jenna spent the month running from one fancy baby boutique to another with Howie's wife Leigh, in the attempt to create the most perfect nursery ever for our little man. It was awesome having Leigh around. Awesome because let's face it, Leigh's a great person, but awesome too because she was due to have their second baby, a little sister for James, at any moment, and awesome because it was the first chance Jenna really had to get to share her pregnancy with someone other than her patients, and Jenna really needed that.

The bonus was when Leigh gave birth to the beautiful Caroline Elizabeth Durough on May 26th, two days before we flew back to Tennessee and we got to spend time cuddling and holding her. I've always enjoyed my time with my nephews (as I call all of the Backstreet babies), but there was something about holding little Caroline that melted my heart even more than ever before. I don't know if it's because she was the first girl... and of course there's always a special place for that, or if it was just the excitement over the arrival of my own child in a few months that made me feel it even more, but my heart just fell in love with her and made me that much more ready to meet my son.

And then he arrived.

Our Jackson.

Our son.

He came bursting into the world on July 5th, 2012 after Jenna and I had spent the evening out at a 4th of July party cooking out with friends and watching the fireworks. And a little firecracker he was, in his own right.

The moments leading up to his birth and all of those after, are moments I will never forget.

We were driving home from the party when the fun began. It was late at night, or rather very early in the morning - whichever way you prefer to look at it, and though darkness had fallen hours before the sky still lit up every few seconds with an array of colors from firework parties still going on. Jenna and I were singing at the top of our lungs... I still remember the song because it was the moment we arrived back at the chorus and began singing at the top of my lungs, "Carry on my wayward son, there'll be peace when you are done...", that I relized Jenna had stopped singing.

I turned towards her, expecting to see her laughing at me, only to find her staring down at her lap, a look of horror on her face.

"Jenna?" it was dark in the car and I couldn't tell what she was looking at, "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

She shifted uneasily in her seat before turning to look at me. "Take me to the hospital right now Nick."

"Huh?" I was confused... I mean we weren't supposed to be going to the hospital for another 8 weeks yet.

"Nick seriously, turn the car around and take me to the hospital."

I didn't argue. Reaching out to take her hand in mine, I turned to car towards the hospital, thankful we were already in the city. Thankful I wouldn't have to drive far. Her breathing would become heavier and then ease every few minutes. Contractions I was sure of it, but I didn't ask questions, just kept my eyes on the road trying to get us there fast.

It wasn't until we pulled in beneath the emergency entrance and a nurse was helping Jenna out into a wheelchair that I saw what had triggered her discomfort. Her water had clearly broken. I shook my head, trying to come to terms with what all of this meant as I parked the car and flew into the building to be beside my wife.

It wasn't long before she was moved to labor and delivery, just a matter of a few minutes. And it wasn't long after that that her room was filled with nurses she knew, coming in to check on her. I had no real idea what was going on, but clearly Jenna did. Her job gave her an awareness that most patients in her position wouldn't have and the fact that this was the hospital where she worked gave her friends to share information other nurses may never have offered.

When the room cleared out enough that I could have a few minutes alone with my wife to finally ask her what the hell was going on. I noticed for the first time as I pulled up a chair and sat down next to her hospital bed, taking her pale, sweaty hand in mine, just exactly how scared she looked.

"Looks like we're having a baby tonight, Nick," she whispered, doing her best to breath through a contraction as she tried to explain the situation. "My water broke... so there's nothing they can do now to stop labor." Her breathing got heavier and she had to stop talking. I leaned forward and gently rubbed her back the way they'd taught us in lamaze class, breathing along with her as I watched the contraction on the monitor peak before finally beginning to fall again.

Several contractions later found us once again with a room full of nurses. With each contraction, it seemed, our son's heart rate would fall... and Jenna's would race.

"The baby isn't tolerating the labor Jenna. And you're not doing too great either," our OB spoke these words upon finally arriving a few moments after the real craziness began. "We need to deliver right away."

A flurry of movement then, and suddenly they were wheeling my wife away from me and a nurse was handing me a set of scrubs to get changed into. A remember feeling lost. Feeling like this wasn't the way we'd planned this whole thing. The quiet birthing room with soft music and me holding her hand. This was scary. This was nuts. I felt the hot tears beginning to sting my eyes, but told myself now was not the time to cry.

I can't really say what all occurred after that because things happened so fast that I honestly don't remember much. I arrived in the OR only seconds before our son was pulled out... at 2:31 am on July 5th, 2012. And I remember holding my breath waiting to hear that first cry.

But it never came.

The NICU nurses and doctors rushed him from the room. Jenna told me I should go with him... but I stayed by her side until they wheeled her to recovery.

What felt like hours later, I was led to the NICU by a nurse who had come to inform us that our son was doing well. He was on oxygen, and would need to be in the hospital for at least a few weeks. He weighed only 4 lbs and was struggling to maintain his body temperature. But for an 8 week preemie, he was doing well.

I'll never forget the moment I laid eyes on my son. They say you fall in love with your child at first sight. I know the first feelings I had the moment I saw my son, connected to machines and needing help to even breathe were that he was so tiny and fragile... and that I wanted to pick him up and run as far away from that hospital with him as I could. I loved him, it's true. I can't even begin to describe the immense feeling of love that I was overcome with the very second I reached my hand through that isolet and touched my baby boy's fingers. But to say it was a love without reservations would be a lie. It was almost like I was afraid to let myself love him too deeply. Afraid that if I let myself fall too hard... he would somehow slip away.

It wasn't until later that night after sitting by my son's bed most of the day just talking to him and telling him to be strong and to fight, that I really truly fell in love. I was sitting by his isolette, singing the same song I'd been singing in the car when Jenna had gone into labor;

It was as I was singing the song that my son opened up his eyes for the first time and stared straight at me. It was like daggers of love in my heart.

And in that moment I realized that this little man... Jackson Carter, was the greatest thing to ever happen in my life.

Meeting Faith was a lot like meeting my son for the first time. And I guess that's fitting... like brother, like sister. I still smile at the thought.

It's a moment I'll never forget -- the moment the doors of that room opened and Naomi walked in, followed by the director, followed by a woman holding our tiny, beautiful little girl. I immediately felt my heart swell with fear and pride and joy.

But mostly with fear.

Fear exactly like the fear I'd felt when I walked into that NICU room on the day Jackson was born and saw him laying there, so tiny and frail, and amazing. I watched as the woman, a nanny in the orphanage, brought our daughter, our daughter (man that feels so strange to say), over to us. We both stood and I watched as my wife reached out and took her in her arms and suddenly it was all so very real.

She was dressed in a blue zip-up sleeper with a lion on the front that was three sizes too big, and wore a green knit hat similar to the ones newborns wear in the hospital that was way too small. If I didn't know she was a girl I could have easily mistaken her for a boy. She was much, much tinier than any 16-month-old I'd ever seen, and she was so terribly frail, but she fit absolutely perfectly in Jenna's arms. I watched Jenna as she held our daughter close and tears fell from her eyes... and they fell from mine. I knew that she was scared too.

Alexei motioned for the two of us to sit back down, and so we did. We sat down together on the couch and Jenna laid Faith down in her lap. We examed every inch of her little body that we could see - not that we could see much -- she was dressed in so many layers. She had the tiniest fingers and the sweetest little single creases on the palms of her hands. Her eyes were absolutely beautiful. The perfect shape of tiny almonds in the same shade of brilliant blue we'd fallen in love with in the first photos of her we'd seen. And her lips. She had the most perfect pouty lips of all time, even if they did definitely have the bluish tint to them that the doctor had warned us about.

Jenna removed the hat from her head after a few minutes. She had the littlest round head with the softest peach fuzz I'd ever felt. I was the first to notice the small scabbed over spot on the left side of her forehead and when I ran my fingers across it, Naomi translated for us that this was from her banging her head on her crib. One of many "institutional" behaviors the families on our adoption forums had warned us about.

As we took the time to examine our daughter, Faith seemed to be examining us in too. She stared at Jenna with a calm, serious expression for a long time. She wasn't extremely active like most 16-month-olds we'd encounterd, preferring to simply lay in Jenna's arms, but she didn't cry and she didn't seem fearful. It was clear that she was tired and clear that she was sick, especially from the blueness in her lips and from just how tiny she was.

But to us, she was perfect. Despite her place in life... despite her health condition, to us she was just right. At one point I noticed Jenna reach down and place her fingers on Faith's wrists as if checking to see that her heartbeat was strong. I caught her eyes and she smiled. "She's a fighter", she whispered. But I think I already knew that.

But the most amazing part of the day for me was when Jenna asked if I wanted to hold her. I reluctantly, nervously said yes. I reached out and pulled her close, cradling her into my arms, rocking her back and forth for a few moments. I looked down into her eyes and she looked right up into mine.

I'm not sure why, but I chose that moment to sing to her... the song Jenna and I had heard about from another adoptive family. The song we'd been listening to for months and had decided would be a good song to someday sing for our daughter. I don't know why I chose that moment, there in front of everyone, but it just felt right and so I sang;

And she smiled. Really smiled. And for the second time in my life, just like when my son had looked at me for the first time, I felt true unconditional love. And I couldn't stop singing.

Because you see, in that exact moment I felt the fear ease from my body. Not that I wasn't still afraid for my daughter, knowing in a few more minutes we would have to give her back and leave her once more, and that we would have to do that for several more weeks until we got to take her home. And not that I didn't still fear that something could go horribly wrong... I mean Jenna and I knew all too well that things could still go horrible wrong...

But I no longer had any fear about loving her.

In that moment she was my daughter... no questions asked.

Forever more.

My Faith.

After that the minutes passed by too quickly with the two of us taking turns holding our little girl. Smiling at her and trying our best to soak up and soak in every ounce of love we could before we had to say good bye. And when that time came, it was clear how in love both of us were because neither of us wanted to leave. Handing our daughter back to the nanny was the hardest thing I'd had to endure in this process yet.

Jenna and I both cried the whole way back to our apartment this afternoon, but they were a mixture of tears of sadness at having to give our girl back, and tears of joy at knowing she was really ours.

And now I need to go write home and tell everyone about our day. There's so much to tell... and so little words to say it all.

Now, you may remember when I started this story, how I talked about the delicate balance of our experiences with joy and sorrow in our lives. How all of the sayings speak that you can't know true joy until you've tasted of sorrow... but how I personally don't believe that we can truly experience either without the other. True joy without having ever known sorrow, nor true sorrow without joy?

I think I can say for certain now that I've experienced both.

I rose to the top of my own personal pillar of joy in July 2012 with the birth of my son. Having experienced enough joy in my life (the successes of my career, learning to love myself, falling in love with someone else, and my son) to overcome any of the sorrows, even the big ones, I could truly say I felt like I was on top of the world.

Of course, the only way to go from the top is down... and it hit hard and fast with the truest sorrow I would ever know. The very worst day of my entire life.

Before I really begin this story though... I think I should add that I can never do it justice. I will never be able to recall all of the moments and memories, nor all that was said and done. But this is the story of our son and it must be told. Because without Jackson we wouldn't be where we are today. Without our son, there would be no Faith. His story is our story. His story is her story.

So I will try.

It all began on July 7th, 2012, just two days after Jackson's birth when I wheeled Jenna into the NICU for her very first visit with our brand new son. On doctor's orders she'd been forced to remain in bed the day before, unable to visit the son she longed to touch and hold and simply SEE for the first time, so I'd taken dozens of pictures on my phone and we sat together in bed for hours and just looked at him together.

That's not the same though and I could tell the moment Jenna laid eyes on our baby boy, snoozing away in his isolette. I held tight to her arm as I felt her body go slack beside mine. I watched as she reached her hands through the holes and touched his tiny body. She started with his feet, examining each part of him so carefully. She removed his socks and touched his tiny toes gently, sliding her finger into the spaces between his toes. She held his hands in hers, turning them over gently and running her hands along the lines on his tiny palms. She stroked his soft dark hair and ran a finger down his nose between his eyes. He opened them then, wiggling around a bit before looking at her. I watched as a single tear rolled down my wife's cheek.

"He sure is beautiful isn't he?" I asked as I pulled her close, reaching my own hand in and placing it on top of where her hand rested on our son's bare chest. I could feel his tiny heart beating furiously there beneath the spot where our fingers enterlaced.

Jenna bit her lip and nodded, clearly trying to fight back the tears that continued to slip from her eyes. I reached up to help her wipe them from her cheek with the back of my hand.

I looked at our son laying there in the bed below us, I saw the tubes running in and out of his tiny body and I tried to remember all of the things the nurses and doctors had told me over the past two days to try and make me feel better about this whole crappy situation.

"The doctor said he's doing really good," I whispered, wiping more tears away and fighting my own now. "He said that Jack is strong. That he's a real fighter. I mean, I guess if you've gotta start this life as something, a fighter's a pretty damn good thing."

Jenna smiled her first real smile since entering the room. She nodded and looked up at me. I kissed her forehead and we both watched as our little fighter wiggled around before us, stopping every now and then to look up and check us out.

After a few minutes Jenna's tears started inexplicably flowing again.

"What is it baby? Do you need to sit down?" I asked, motioning to the chair behind us, concerned that she was in more pain than she was letting on.

She shook her head. "Nick, it's just I..."

But her words were cut short when the doctor entered the room. Jenna hurried to him and shook his hand, turning to me quickly to introduce him. I was still getting used to the idea that Jenna knew most of the doctors and nurses in this hospital... so it caught me off guard how easily and readily she felt comfortable with the people around her when I was always so guarded.

"Nick," she spoke quickly, "This is Dr. Robeschard. He's going to be Jack's pediatrician."

I nodded and smiled, introduced myself and shook the doctor's hand. I was slightly confused though, wondering why we were meeting a pediatrician so soon when Jackson was still under the care of the neonatal specialists.

Then the doctor spoke.

"I talked with Karen yesterday about your concerns and after some further investigations, we decided to go ahead and run the tests you asked about."

I shook my head and looked questioningly towards Jenna. Who was Karen... and what tests? It was clear she was totally focused on what the doctor was saying though, so she couldn't answer my questions.

"And..." I heard Jenna ask, but then she stopped for a minute, and reached out for me. I could tell that she was nervous about something, so I went to her side and took the hand she was extending.

"What's going on?" I whispered, but she didn't respond.

"Well," the doctor continued, "the results from the chromsomal karyotype testing won't be back for a week... so at this point no one can say for certain, but..."

"But..." Jenna continued for him, "he's got so many symptoms. The epicanthal folds, the space between his toes, the simian crease..."

The doctor nodded. Jenna nodded back and released a deep sigh, wiping more tears from her eyes. I just stood there baffled.

Finally after a few moments I couldn't take the silence anymore. "What are you talking about? epi-whatever folds and creases?" I asked... "I don't get it. Is something wrong with Jackson?"

The doctor started to speak, but Jenna shook her head.

"No," she whispered... and I'll never, as long as I live, forget the next words she said to me, because it was the beginning of acceptance, for both of us, even if I didn't know it at the time. "Jackson is perfect." And she went to our son's isolette and peered in, reaching inside and stroking his soft hair once more. "He's just perfectly flawed."

And then my wife turned to me and delivered the most shocking news I ever could have imagined. "Nick," she whispered, shaking her head as the tears flowed more freely than ever, "Jackson has Down Syndrome."

I felt myself go numb then. What? And you would think you would feel a thousand different emotions in a moment like that, but no, not really. I felt nothing. Not sadness, or anger... or anything really. Or at least not really anything different. I looked down at my boy, laying there in the same spot he'd been laying before I knew... and he looked the same to me. In fact, he was the same to me. He was my son. I still felt that same immense love. It was just... it was weird.

I remember reaching into his isolette and holding his fingers in mine and I remember him looking up at me, much the same way as he'd done on the night he was born and I think it was in that moment that it hit me. And it wasn't so much a feeling of shock that I felt. Looking back, I think I simply wondered how I had sat beside my child's isolette for two days without ever seeing a thing and all Jenna had to do was glance at a few photos to know that something was different. For a minute I'll admit that I felt like I'd failed my son in some way. Like I should have known. Like I should have been able to look into his eyes and see the same thing my wife had seen.

But all I could see... and all I still could see was love. And I turned to Jenna, the tears still streaming down her cheeks, and I thought what a burden that must have felt like... to have to be the one to know. To have to be the one to feel like something was wrong and to tell a doctor that. And for a fleeting moment I will also admit that I wondered in my mind if Jenna loved our son the way I did. But that moment didn't last too long, because it was obvious in the way she looked at him. In the way she touched him and sat beside him for hours a day, and in the way she held him when that time came... and in the way she cried...

Oh she loved him alright... maybe more sometimes.

Close friends ask me sometimes how I changed when I found out about Jackson's Down Syndrome. I would like to say that I didn't really change, that I was still the same person... but I did. In good ways, and in not so good ways.

I'll admit that in those first few days, before we got the official results, I still didn't really allow myself to believe it was even real. That the things Jenna and our nurses saw were just little coincidences. That the gap between his toes was just a gap and the single line on the palm of his hand may suddenly become two if I studied it hard enough. I mean, Jackson never looked extremely "Downsy" as some people might say. So at first, I really didn't change. Like I said before, I didn't feel much different. I still loved my son as fiercely as before and I never really felt anger or sadness... even after we found out for certain.

There were moments though, after that Friday when the doctor came to us, early in the morning and handed us the test results that confirmed 100% that our son had Trisomy 21 -- the fancier definition of Down Syndrome. The first moment I rememeber was when I wondered how I would tell my friends. Brian, Howie, Kevin and AJ... everyone who'd anticipated adding this little boy to the BSB family as much as we had. How would I tell them that his life would be different. That this little guy was "special". Because even though I hated that definition, to us, he would be. How would I let them know that tour buses and crowded airports would be out of the question. That touring with our baby would have to be different.

Jenna and I had started reading books and studying as much as we could and we were beginning to realize what all would go into raising a child with Down Syndrome, and busy schedules that didn't fit a babies routine would no longer work for us.

And I'll never forget the day I spoke to Howie on the phone... before we'd told anyone. He was talking about our sons all growing up together and how awesome it would be if they could be close and start a band or travel the world together just like we've done. And as much as I hate to admit this to anyone, the only image I could ever create of my grown up son was the image of an adult fully dependent upon his parents.

These images faded over the weeks as we grew to love our son even more without knowing it was possible. As we got the chance to hold him in our arms and feed him for the first time. As we watched him grow and change from the tiny baby in the isolette, dependent on the machines to live to the chunky little guy so close to going home.

And then finally, we introduced Jackson to our family and closest friends and watched them fall as fiercely in love with him as we were. And I will say now that nothing will make you love your friends as much as watching them love your child. I now know what Brian meant when he said that it meant the world to him to see his friends with Baylee because man, the first time I saw my best friend hold my son... I felt a whole new respect for what he's been doing the past 9 years with his own son.

So if you ask me now how I changed, I'd tell you that my son taught me to love unconditionally. He taught me that every human is worthy of love and that I am a lot less immature than I ever could have imagined I would be.

If only I had known what life was getting ready to throw my way.

I remember that night like it was yesterday... even though it's been almost 3 years ago.

It was sometime around 4 am on August 11th when the phone rang. Jenna rolled over and answered it, and I listened bleary-eyed from my spot in our cozy bed to her side of the conversation.

"Hello. This is She. Yes, okay, we'll be there soon."

I sat up then, willing my body awake, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I grabbed my t-shirt off the night stand and pulled it on over my head.

"Hospital?" I asked as I slid out of bed, watching as Jenna did the same.

She nodded, "Yep."

You may be wondering why we weren't jumping up or scrambling around in a hurry. Well, this had become a pretty normal occurance in our home by that point. The hospital would often call, day or night, if Jackson needed something. That something was often as simple as a refill on breastmilk, and sometimes it was something slightly more urgent like a medical test they couldn't perform without our consent. And so we would drag ourselves out of bed, or away from whatever activity we were doing at the time and we would head on over to the hospital.

We were totally used to it.

And so at the time that night didn't seem any different... and we didn't rush. We climbed out of bed and got dressed. I brushed my teeth while Jenna grabbed a couple of bottles of frozen breastmilk from the freezer and then we loaded into the car and headed for the hospital.

In retrospect Jenna often berated herself, saying she should have known. Anytime the hospital had called before they'd told us exactly why we were needed. That night they'd only asked if we could come as soon as possible.

I'll never forget walking into the NICU an hour or so after that phonecall. We immediately noticed Jackson's cubicle from across room. His typically quiet space had suddenly become a flurry of activity. Nurses and doctors surrounded his isolette and the machines around his bed that had been silent for weeks were once again up and running. Many of them were beeping noisily. Sounds I'd never heard, even in our earliest NICU days.

Jenna stopped short when she spotted Jackson's nurse from the very beginning, and her friend for many years standing beside his bed. "Karen!" she called out, her voice shaking as I felt her fingernails dig into my hand. I watched as Karen turned, her face an eerie pale white, her eyes filled with tears... and that was the moment I realized that something was horribly wrong.

She rushed over to us then, after pulling another nurse over so she could leave our son's side. Jenna immediately fell into her arms, pulling me along with her. Karen guided the two of us to chairs in the corners of the room and told us to wait there... Jenna nodded knowingly and whispered, "Go help them please!"

For the longest time we sat there and watched as the nurses and doctors moved quickly to stabilize our son. After what felt like an eternity, when the machines had finally quieted to a more normal beeping pattern, the room cleared out, leaving Karen, Jenna and I sitting there alone.

"What happened," I heard Jenna ask, her voice shaking with tears. I stood then, letting go of her hand and walked carefully over to where my son lay, now motionless in his isolette. I'll never forget the way he looked that night... tiny and more frail than he'd looked even on the day he was born. His body was a mottled color and he had so many new spots... tiny bruises and marks where they'd been working on him. But the biggest difference now was the ventilator. He'd never been on a ventilator before and the steadying humming sound it made as it pumped air into his little lungs was sickening to me.

Karen explained as best she could what had happened. She told us that at Jackson's last nightly check all had seemed well except for a slight fever, which we knew... they'd told us that when we'd called to check on him the evening before. The doctor had sent some cultures to check for bacterial and viral growth, but otherwise Jack had seemed perfectly fine. Then, at about 3:45, without warning, our son had crashed. Karen explained how she'd been in the next cubicle over with another baby when his apnea monitor sounded. She'd hurried over, expecting as normal to have to give him a little jostle or for it to be a false alarm, only to find him completely unresponsive. She'd called code blue and started CPR immediately but he just wouldn't come around.

At this point Jackson's doctor came in and I can sit here and try to remember everything he told in the following minutes, but I don't. He spoke to us for over an hour and the most I remember is this; they performed CPR on our son for approximately 50 minutes before finally getting a heartbeat, even still it wasn't strong. Jack was not breathing on his own. His body was weak and struggling and at that point they didn't know why.

"The next 24 hours will be crucial." Those are the words I remember the most. Karen explained to us, though she didn't really have to, that Jackson had gone without oxygen for a long, long time. That brain damage was extremely likely. That he may never wake up.

I remember the doctor getting up and walking out of the room after that. I remember that I wanted to scream, cry and vomit all at the same time. But I didn't do any of those things. I remember walking back to my son's bed and pulling up a chair and I remember Jenna coming to sit beside me. We held each other's hands and we both reached out and held Jackson's. I remember looking at Jenna and shaking my head.

"How did this happen?"

Jenna shook her head back, but she never answered... because that was not a question that could be answered.

The four days that followed that long night in August were by far the hardest days I've ever experienced in my entire life.

Jenna and I spent nearly every minute of those days and nights at our baby's bedside, only leaving to go to the bathroom, or occasionally to get a snack, even though neither of us ever really felt like eating, we knew we had to eat to keep living... and we knew we had to keep living for our son.

For the first time in our whole NICU experience I felt like all of those parents I'd felt sorry for before. The ones I'd noticed for weeks going in and out of their children's rooms, exhausted looks and pained expressions clearly etched upon their tear-streaked faces. And for the first time ever I found myself wanting to step out of my private little corner to reach out and hug those other parents tight... to let them know I felt what they felt -- the pain and frustration that came along with being in a place like this and feeling so damned alone.

In the coming months friends would ask us why we never called. They would tell us that they would've come in a heartbeat. That we didn't have to be alone. And Jenna and I both knew they were being honest. We have the best friends in the world like that. But the truth was, in those four days, Jenna and I never thought about anyone but Jack. We never thought to pull out our phones and reach out to the world outside those hospital walls. Our minds were on one thing and that one thing was our little boy.

I remember at first, in the 24 hours following Jackson's initial decline, when we still had something to hope for... I remember how Jenna and I watched the monitors around the room all the time for any indication that something positive was happening inside his tiny body. Anytime a number would change or a monitor would beep we would get excited. But then, without fail a nurse or doctor would shuffle in, arrange something with a tube, or push the buttons on a monitor and all would return to just as it had been moments before. The monitors would stop beeping and all would be quiet once more. That uncomfortable silence spoke volumes about our son's condition.

I wonder now and have often wondered if maybe we'd paid less attention to all of those monitors and more attention to Jackson himself... maybe if we looked at him a little longer... lingered on his lifeless form for more than small moments at a time (because in all honesty that's as much as our hearts could take), we wouldn't have ignored all of the signs that Jackson's body was already giving us. Ande maybe we would have realized sooner what we finally understood on the morning of August 15th.

Not that it's all such a bad thing. I mean, in the end I think those four days spent by our son's bedside served their purpose... even if the only purpose they served was to give us a little more time with our baby.

I remember the morning of August 15th vividly. I had just come back from the cafeteria and Jenna was seated in her normal spot beside the bed. Nothing seemed different, and yet, everything did. I couldn't put my finger on it but I walked over to where Jennas was sitting and noticed for the first time that she was crying. I sat down beside her and pulled her into my arms where I rocked her back and forth as the two of us cried together. Neither of us spoke... neither of us had to. I think in those early morning moments of that fourth day we both simply knew. Jackson was done fighting. It was time to let him go.

The next hours were spent discussing things with the doctors, preparing ourselves (not that you can ever truly do that), and calling our closest family and friends. I still remember the shock in their voices... and the heartache. Telling your friends that your son is going to die is not an experience I ever could have imagined I'd go through... nor is it one I ever wish to go through again. But of course we needed to let them know what was happening. We wanted everyone to have the chance to see Jackson one last time. Especially knowing that for some of them it would be both the first and the last.

At some point I sat down for a few minutes and just stared at my son. I tried not to imagine all of the things he was going to miss out on in life... but I couldn't help it. Images flashed before my eyes of what he would have been like as he grew up. I thought about taking him home and about showing him off to our fans. I thought about taking him to the park and teaching him things. I even thought about how he would have been as an adult... and unlike a month before, I didn't see him as an adult dependent on his parents... I saw him as an awesome individual who smiled all the time and who was loved by many. And then I shook my head because I realized that none of that would ever be.

And then, I looked over at Jenna, who was on the phone with her own family and friends, wiping tears repeatedly as she rushed through conversations, eager to get off the phone and get back to us. I wondered how we'd ended up where we were. We'd had a baby we'd thought was perfect and we'd found out he had Down Syndrome. We'd discovered in our own time that he was perfect anyway... and despite being born premature he'd done amazingly well and was always deemed a 'fighter'. And now, we were supposed to be getting ready to take him home in a few days and instead we were getting ready to say good bye. How unbelievably unfair could life be?

The hours passed too quickly that day as friends came and went, photographs were taken by the hundreds. Everyone was able to hold Jackson and love on him, just the way we wanted it to be. Well... not really, because it was not the way we would have ever wanted it to be, but under the circumstances, it was perfect. Karen was there to help us move him in and out of his isolette so that our friends and family members could touch and see him. Brian, Aj, Howie and Kevin all made it to the hospital that day... together. The hour that they were there with me is an hour I'm eternally grateful for. They were wonderful... holding my son, oohing an aahing over him. We cried together... and laughed. If anyone can bring laughter out of the worst situation in life it would be those guys.

And then everyone was gone and Jenna and I were left alone and it was time. Karen and our doctor came in once more and Jackson was placed in our arms. All of the machines were turned off, the tubes removed and we wrapped Jack in the blanket that a friend of Jenna's knitted for him. We sat and held him together. We sang to him... we cried. He lived for twenty-two of the most beautiful minutes, and then he peacefully left this world for the next as we held him in our arms and told him that we loved him.

We spent the next hour bathing him, dressing him, and holding him.

And then it was time to say good bye forever.

Karen came in and we gave him final kisses and we hugged her for all that she'd done for us. As we were getting ready to walk out the door she stopped us.

"Jenna," she whispered quietly, and we turned back towards her and looked, "I just noticed... I'm sorry... it's just, I noticed on his birth certificate... there's no middle name."

I watched as Jenna sighed and turned towards me, tears rolling down her face. I shook my head, Jackson's middle name was something we'd had trouble deciding on since his birth... Jenna wanted it to mean something special, but she couldn't seem to think of anything special enough. Of course, we always thought we'd have a long, long time to decide. I watched as Jenna's shoulders sagged and the tears fell faster, "He can't not have a middle name." She reached out and touched Jackson's head.

"Think about it for a minute," I pulled her over and we sat together, our son's body on the bed beside us. The most unnatural feeling in the world.

A few minutes later she smiled. "I know it," she whispered and Karen and I both looked at her together, waiting to hear.

"Tennyson." She finally sighed, "After Alfred Lord Tennyson."

I didn't catch on right away... but Karen clearly did. She reached down and gently touched our sons cheek. "That's perfect," she whispered and Jenna nodded.

"Tis better to have loved and lost..."

I smiled despite the tears that were rolling down my own cheeks.

I pulled out my cell phone and without even really thinking what I was doing I typed in the text message: "Well, he has a full name now -- Jackson Tennyson Carter passed peacefully from this world a little over an hour ago. Thank you all for your thoughts and prayers. We'll be in touch soon."

I hit send and shook my head... none of this made any sense. This was so not how this should ever be.

I realized something this evening, laying here on the couch in our tiny apartment in Kharkev, waiting for Jenna to finish cooking our microwave pizza as I stare at the ceiling fan turning circles above me... and it's something that seriously tears at my heart.

Do you know that after today I've officially held my daughter more than I ever got to hold my son?

And do you know how unfair that is? That in the tiny span of the two days since we first met Faith, I have cradled her in my arms more than I was ever able to hold Jackson in his entire six weeks of life?

That sucks.

But then again I think of the fact that Faith, at 16 months old has likely been held more in the last two days than she's ever been held in her entire life... and I think that sucks even more. How unfair this whole crazy, messed up world can be. Knowing that my daughter spent the past 16 months of her life - the first 16 months of her life. All the life she's known and according to everything Jenna will tell you from the research she's done, the most important time in any child's life, laying alone in a cold metal crib, only picked up to have her diaper changed... and even then only maybe twice a day.

It makes me sick.

I will admit that being with Faith these past two days has brought back some of the overwhelming feelings of grief I had in thost first months after Jackson's death. The sadness and heartache that came from knowing I would never get to take him home or curl up on the couch with him or hear him say DaDa or blow raspberries on his tummy or send him off to kindergarten or teach him how to play football or sing... or watch him grow up. It's heartache that's eased over time but I know that it will never disappear. And there are fears too. I think once you've had a child die, you fear more for everyone else in your life. I've had nightmares since the night we lost Jackson about Jenna and my brothers and sisters and the guys and just about everyone else I love dying. I hate that.

Of course I also have fears about what the future will hold for Faith -- for her health and her heart. It's hard knowing that your perfect child, beautiful and amazing on the outside, has a broken heart. Literally. And it's terrifying watching your child's lips turn blue the more she plays... the more she sits up and the more she seems to have fun. But man, I have to admit holding my tiny little girl in my arms feels amazing, and at this point I wouldn't trade her for the world.

The way she cuddles up against my chest, her head resting in the crook of my neck, her warm breath gently blowing against my skin. The way she smiles at Jenna and I. I swear I think she already knows we're here to get her out of this place -- that we're here to love her. It doesn't even bother me when we get yelled at for allowing her to fall asleep - which has already happened twice - our girl has a thing for sleeping on her daddy's chest and her daddy has a thing for his girl. And it's difficult because I know this is my child, but I also want to be respectful to the culture and to all of the people who have raised Faith so far. Even if they haven't raised her in a manner I agree with. And of course, the nannies have told us that in the orphange the children only sleep at certain times so we try our best to honor that. But all I can really think is how in a few short weeks she can spend as much time as she wants curled up in my arms. In fact, she can sleep there every minute of every single day if that's her desire. She'll be my daughter then, never again an orphan trapped in crib with no one to give her the love she needs. Never ever again.

The truth is, after all of this... after seeing what these children have been through. Watching from afar as the nannies leave babies to cry in their beds, feeding them without ever holding them in their arms, never getting them out to play, allowing them to bang their heads on the metal edges of their cribs instead of offering toys to distract them -- the truth is, when we get our daughter home, I may never put her down.

Jenna says the same thing.

We've visited three times so far and will continue to visit twice a day until our court date in two weeks. We would visit more if we could, but two visits per day for two hours each is the most they allow. If we're approved to adopt Faith on our court date.... no, WHEN we're approved to adopt her, there will be a 10 day waiting period before we will be allowed to take her home.

So four more weeks. Maybe a little more. Maybe a little less.

What seems like an eternity in the moment is a minute in the grand scheme of things. At this point we've both just agreed to wait patiently and soak up every second with our daughter that we can.

"Pizza?" I hear Jenna ask as I look up to where she's standing above me. I nod because I'm starving and pizza sounds like the best thing in the entire world right now. If only it were Pizza Hut... and if only we were at a restaurant in the U.S. with our friends and family and our little girl, this would be the perfect evening.

We sit on the couch together for a long while, just eating and enjoying the warm evening breeze that blows through the window on this beautiful summer night. I'm thinking of home and swimming in the ocean and laying out on the beach when Jenna breaks the silence.

"I think I have a middle name," she picks a piece of pepperoni off her pizza and I reach over and take it from her, eating it quickly before she has the chance to react. She laughs and rolls her eyes.

"I'm waiting..." I smirk as I reach to grab another and she moves her plate away quickly, smacking my wrist and sticking her tongue out as she munches on the pepperoni herself this time.

"Well," she sighs as she pulls over her computer, the monitor already on. "I wanted to show you this email. Rochelle actually sent it to me the day after we announced we were officially adopting Faith. It's just always stuck with me, ever since then. Hence why I never erased it."

She shows me the screen and I read the email. It's short... just a few sentences but I understand exactly what Jenna means. It's sweet, and in just those few seconds, the words strike something in my heart.

"Jenna

I know that our heartaches can never begin to compare. I've lost pregnancies and you lost a living child. But I wanted you to know that we all loved Jackson and we are all so excited to welcome Faith. I am thrilled that I will get the chance to raise my daughter as you raise yours and I can't wait to share this experience with you. Faith is absolutely beautiful and I just know we will all learn so much from having her in our lives.

My mom shared with me a quote, months ago after one of my miscarriages. It said so simply, "When it is dark enough, you can see the stars."

It must be very dark tonight because I think our stars are shining down on us at last.

May God Bless you and Nick on your journey.

Love you,

Rochelle"

Rochelle has a way with words and enough heartache in her own life after suffering four miscarriages that I know for her to send this message was really sweet and really special. I find myself wiping a tear from my cheek as I turn from the computer and look at Jenna again.

"That was really nice..." I whisper, still fighting back the tears. "But what does it have to do with a name?"

"Emerson." Jenna smiles at the look on my face. I still don't get it, but I give it a thought and automatically fall in love with the name.

She laughs when she catchs that I'm lost again, "Ralph Waldo Emerson is where the quote in the email came from and I think it's only fitting that since our son's middle name came from a famous poet's quote... our daughter's should too."

I smile again and nod. That makes perfect since.

"I love it."

We both stare for a long time at the photo on the screen of our daughter that Jenna has made her new background. A picture of the three of us sitting on the couch in the orphanage together. I'll have to send it out in an email soon before the natives get restless and hop on planes to see her for themselves as they often threaten to do if I go longer than an hour or two without updating. Luckily we enjoy sharing her.

I stand up to clear dinner, leaving Jenna still staring at the photo of our daughter but return a while later after washing the dishes to find her wiping fresh tears as she pours over old pictures from the folder clearly labeled; "Jackson's Life."

I sit down beside her and take her hand. It's not often that we allow ourselves to embark on the journey of backtracking to this time in our lives. Sure we have a few photos of Jack that are always present in our home, but these... these are all of the photos of his life. The good, the bad, the precious moments. First and last. Birth and Death.

"I-I'm afraid 'll forget him..." Jenna sniffles when we finally reach the end of the folder. The end of his time in our world.

I shake my head. "Never. I won't let that happen. And you won't let me forget." It's a promise we made to each other when Jackson died and a promise we've both kept ever since.

She turns her head. "But I already have. I mean... I've already forgetten the way it felt to hold him and touch him. The way he felt in my arms. The way he smelled. I.. I didn't want to ever forget." She cries harder as I pull her into my arms.

"But you still remember." I lower my head. The truth is, I've forgotten those same things, but I will never forget Jackson himself.

Jenna sits back down and clicks off the folder. She reachs out and touches our daughter's picture on the screen. "Someone asked me the other day if we were just adopting Faith so that we could forget about Jackson."

"That's horrible."

Jenna nods. "We're not are we? I mean.. I know we're not... it's just... I don't know."

I shake my head no vigorously. "I will never, ever forget Jackson. I think he made it possible for us to fall in love with another child. But I still wish he could be here with us. We will NEVER forget him."

And I want everyone to know that.

Faith is not here to replace Jackson. It's a hard lesson to learn that once you've lost a child, you can never go back. You can't fill the hole in your heart that's made by the death of your child. The hole in my own heart is shaped exactly like my son. It's just as unique and amazing as he was and no one can ever fit inside that hole and fill it up just right. But Faith can take her place inside my heart alongside that hole. And my heart will be bigger because of her. I will always be a father who lost a son. Only now, I will also be the father who has an amazing daughter too.

That's what makes life beautiful. That we can go through horrible tragedies... and after them our hearts still have room to grow.

Jackson and Faith will BOTH hold a place in my heart forever.

I take the computer from Jenna and upload the photo of the three of us to an email. I title the email "She has a Name!" and inside above the photo I add, for the first time "Faith Emerson Carter". It feels good to push send. To share our little girl with our family and friends.

She deserves as much love as anyone else in the world. We have 16 long months to make up for.

And now comes the part of our story where Jackson's death leads us to Faith. Granted it took a lot longer than it will seem when you read this. In actuality, 15 months passed between the time we lost our son and the day we found our daughter. 15 months that changed our lives... that helped us grow. That made us who we are today.

I think before experiencing the death of my own child I would have believed that the death itself would be the hardest part of the whole experience. But it wasn't... at least not for me. I don't really know about Jenna, she still doesn't talk much about any of it, and that's okay, we all grieve differently. I've learned a lot about that.

For me though, Jackson's death was the easiest part. If you can all it 'easy'. Which you can't really, but I don't know how else to put it. The least difficult part perhaps? Maybe that's a better way to put it. I mean, we'd watched our son for days, knowing he was only alive because of the machines that were breathing for him and keeping his body functioning. I think our logical brains knew from the beginning of those four days that our son was gone, even though our hearts wanted us to believe otherwise. So looking back I can say that during those days, it's pretty much like death had already happened and in a way Jackson's body was just waiting for our hearts to accept the fact.

His actual death though, meaning the moment his heart stopped beating and we knew he was really physically gone. Well, it was beautiful... in it's own way. As beautiful as any death can be. Before that happened though, we held him in our arms and for the first time in his entire life we got to experience our son without tubes and wires. We got to feel his heart beating and cuddle in the warmth of his tiny body for twenty-two of both the longest and shortest minutes of our lives.

And they were amazing minutes... every single one of the them. And then as we felt his heartrate slowly stop beating we got to kiss him and hold him and tell him we loved him and that it was okay to go... that we'd see him again someday. And that was beautiful too. Beautiful and painful, but worth every single second.

No... the hardest part wasn't the death. The hardest part was walking away when all was said and done.

The hardest part was leaving the hospital that night knowing we would never return. Leaving our son's body laying on that cold bed, wrapped up in a blanket to be carried to the morgue by someone we'd never even met. And that thought for me, was the hardest. That my son's body would be all alone that night in a strange new place, surrounded by death. And that would have been enough. But then we had to walk through the halls of the hospital, all of our son's belongings swaddled in our arms with no baby to show for the journey we'd been through.

We carried all of the stuffed animals and toys, the blankets, clothes and photos we'd collected for his isolette over the 6 weeks our son had lived and walked carefully out to our car with them. Jenna climbed in the front passenger seat and shut the door, looking straight ahead as if she could block out the rest of the world around her. I opened the back seat to shove in the rest of Jackson's things and there I saw his infant seat... or what should have been his infant seat. He never got the chance to use it. I remembered all of the research Jenna had done in the months prior to Jackson's birth, hoping to find the very safest and best car seat out there. And I remembered the day, just a week before when I'd sat in the back seat with the manual, confused as hell until finally I'd been able to carefully install it. And now here it sat, just waiting for our son to be buckled in snuggly and brought home.

Yet another milestone that would never occur.

I shook my head as I shut the door and climbed into the driver's seat beside my wife. I focused my eyes on the road ahead of me as we headed home in silence.

The drive from Nashville to home seemed even longer than usual that day and after a little while Jenna reached up and flicked on the radio. She tuned the dial until she found her favorite station - K-Love. If you know much about me then you know I've never been a huge fan of Christian music. I mean, before I married Jenna the only Christian music I owned was Brian's CD and I liked it okay... but since marrying my wife I'd had to get used to a constant background noise of christian rock. And I didn't really mind it anymore... except for today. Today I really wanted to change the station. There's just something about losing your child that makes you lose at least a little of your faith. There's something about losing your child that makes you want to stand up in front of God and ask him, "What the hell was that for?"

"But God lost his own son..." Jenna reminded me of this just this morning with tears in her eyes... "He knows."

Not that it helps me understand any better why my own son had to die... but I think the thought helps Jenna at least a little and I guess that's okay.

Jenna left the station on and when a new song started playing she turned it up, leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes.

I listened to the words as we drove along and couldn't help but notice the tears quickly forming in my eyes. If nothing else, music could make you feel... and even though I'd rather not feel at all then feel the pain of losing my son, I had to admit that this was a beautiful song, and sometimes tears weren't such a bad thing.

I fought the tears that stung my eyes harder still as they tried their best to fall. I glanced over at Jenna and saw that she was crying harder than I was. I reached out my hand and found hers, silently I brushed my fingers along her wrist, feeling the hospital bracelet that had been there since the day our son was born. This made the tears fall even faster, knowing we had been waiting so anxiously to take our bracelets off together so that we could put them in Jackson's baby book. A treasured memory... but not this way.

I tried to remember the words that Jenna had told me what seemed like a hundred time in the past few months. "We have to have faith Nick."

And then again over the past few days she repeatedly told me, "Nick, we can't lose faith."

I'd tried so hard... but look where it had gotten me.

Pulling into the driveway 45 minutes later didn't help. I immediately noticed the sign on the front door that proudly announced, "IT'S A BOY!" I heard Jenna sigh beside me, wiping more tears as quickly as she could. I went around to her side of the car and took her hand and together we walked into our home.

Inside, Jackson's swing and bassinet sat in the corner of the living room. His stroller was folded up beside the front door. A laundry basket full of onsies and sleepers and blankets lay on the sofa waiting to be taken up to the nursery and put away. A stack of birth announcements sat upon the coffee table where Jenna had been addressing them the night before we got the phonecall that changed everything. It woud be weeks before we would finally tuck them carefully into the closet inside Jackson's keepsake box where they still remain to this day.

Our home was the picture of the home of a couple expecting a baby and we were the picture of a couple who'd just lost one. I stood in the middle of the room and shook my head at the irony of it all as Jenna moved the laundry basket to the floor before curling up on the couch with a blanket from the top of the pile. She touched it softly to her cheek and breathed in it's scent before discarding it back in the basket.

"Nothing here smells like him," she sobbed as she closed her eyes and buried her face into the pillows.

I curled up beside her, taking her in my arms and holding her close as her sobs gently slowed and once again she breathed a deep sigh. We lay together on that couch for a long time, Jenna resting her head on my chest, her hand gently placed over my heart. I wondered what she was thinking then... but I never asked. After a while she finally stood and said she wanted to shower. I asked if she wanted me to come with her but she said she just wanted to be alone. I watched her walk from the room, her shoulders low, her head down and I wondered if we'd ever be okay again.

I stood and walked into my office across the room. I sat down in front of my computer and flicked it on, staring for a moment at the photo of Jackson I'd already framed and had sitting on my desk. It was taken two weeks before, the first time I'd gotten to hold him kangaroo style. It's strange how your body can ache so bad for something you can never have ever again and something you never had for that long to begin with. My arms ached to be holding my son again. I longed for the warmth of his tiny body on my chest and the comfort of knowing he was safe with me.

I closed my eyes and looked away from the photo. It was almost too much to bare.

I popped up Twitter on my computer wondering if for even a minute I could escape the madness and just go back to being the goofy Nick Carter everyone knew and loved. But of course when I clicked on our Backstreet Boys account to see if anyone had updated our fans on what was going on, they had;

"Our prayers are with Nick and Jenna today. We love you guys."

I knew the guys had said so little in order to respect our privacy, but it felt good that they had said anything at all. And of course the message was followed by the messages of thousands of fans asking if everything was okay and sending their prayers and positive thoughts our way. It had been announced shortly after Jackson's birth that our son had been born premature, but of course as far as fans knew everything was going well. In fact, my last message on August 9th had been a positive one which said simply;

"Can't wait to bring the J-man home in a few days and introduce him to all of our fans! You guys are incredible! Thank you for all the wonderful wishes."

My eyes filled with tears once more when I think of how long ago that message seemed... and yet, not long ago at all. A lifetime ago it had been though. Jackson's lifetime.

I clicked on my own account and was overwhelmed by the thousands of messages. I fought back the tears as I struggled with what to type... in the end, I went with this;

"I really have no words to offer... 41 days was not long enough. Sleep peacefully JTC. Daddy loves you."

I stared at the computer screen for several more moments before finally clicking send... for some reason it felt like clicking send and letting the world know made it more real than it already was. Even though I knew it couldn't really get more real than my child's death.

It was only moments later when my cell phone buzzed - a text message from Brian.

"I love you bro. Call if you need anything at all."

I shook my head, wiping yet more tears. I knew even with as painful as all of this was that with the amount of love we had in our lives we would be able to make it through.

"Thanks man," I responded... "love you too."

As I was sitting on my computer that night I clicked on a folder I'd created shortly after Jackson's birth and started going through links and deleting them one by one. There were links for Down Syndrome foundations and organizations, information sites and various online groups. In my mind I didn't need them anymore. In my mind I would never need them again.

Just as I was preparing to throw in the towel and delete the entire folder without clicking on another link I came across a site called "Reece's Rainbow." I hadn't recalled adding the link, but then again, it sounded somewhat familiar. I clicked on the link and immediately remembered the sweet email I'd received from a kind stranger just days after our doctors had confirmed Jackson's Down Syndrome diagnosis. At a point in my life when I'd reached out anonymously (of course), but honestly, pouring my heart out in an online forum to other parents who had found themselves in my exact shoes at some point in their lives, the support I'd found had been overwhelmingly loving, encouraging and just as honest in return.

The woman, Anna, who had sent the email shared with me her experience. How she'd found out her daughter had Down Syndrome at birth and how she'd felt that she had failed her child in some way. That the diagnosis somehow had to be her fault. That it couldn't simply just be the way life was.

She spoke of the devastation she'd felt at first, knowing that her baby girl would never be 'normal'. The nightmares she'd had about trying to raise her in a society that often doesn't accept people who are different. But then she went on to share pictures of her 10-year-old daughter Lilly, who was beautiful and smiling and looked so incredibly happy. She raved about all that she had accomplished in her life, many things they'd been told she would never be able to do. She spoke of how much she loved her daughter and how it wasn't long after her birth that she fell madly in love, to the point that she knew she would die for her. To the point that she knew she would do whatever it took to make her life worthwhile and amazing. She talked about how incredible a gift what she'd thought was a curse had turned out to be... and how she wished she could turn back time and tell herself in the beginning how enriched her life would become because of Lilly, not in spite of her.

I remember wanting to save the email because of all the letters I'd received so far this one had touched my heart the most. But before I could hit the save button I had noticed the signature at the bottom of the screen. It read simply;

Anna B.

Mother to Lilly Marie -- Born 12/10/2002, Trisomy 21

*Anxiously waiting on our two X-tra Special Angels*

And below the signature was a link to the website I'd found again today -- 'Reece's Rainbow" -- with two photos, one of a 4-year-old named Mattias and the other of a 1-year-old named Maryanna. Both looked pitiful and frail and the photos brought tears to my eyes when I read the descriptions. Mattias and Maryanna both had Down Syndrome, just like Lilly. Just like my newborn son.

And they were both going to be adopted by Lilly's family.

I had clicked on the link that day, curious what it would lead to and was immediately awed by the number of children listed. You see, Reece's Rainbow is a site that helps pair orphaned children in other countries who have been diagnosed with Down Syndrome with adoptive families here in the United States. They had funds set up for every child to help offset the cost of adoption which I was shocked to see for many families totaled as much as $25,000. After searching the site for a while I finally found the links for Mattias and Maryanna's funds and easily found myself filling out the donation slip with $1000 for each. Afterall, their mother had helped me find hope in my newborn son... I could surely offer her some hope in bringing home these two beautiful children.

And this is where the story of Faith begins. Without Jackson there would have been no email. With no email there had been no link and without Jackson's death I would not have clicked on the Reece's Rainbow site on that painful day in August 2012 and decided to save it when I so easily could have deleted it along with all the others. Something in my heart told me to save the link that day. Even in my pain. Even when I couldn't stand the thought of looking at the children on those pages, knowing that they had hope when Jackson didn't.

Little did I know that 15 months later I would come upon that link again in a time when I needed it most. And little did I know that Jenna had somehow stumbled upon the same link at some point in that year. And little did either of us know that this would lead us on a journey together...

The journey to Faith.

I had a flashback this afternoon. Not like a military style, freak the frick out flashback or anything like that... but a bad enough one to send a chill down my spine and leave me with a good case of the cold sweats for hours after. I wasn't even aware that it could happen. I mean it's not like I've been having them over the past three years or anything, but I did and it sucked.

We were preparing to leave the orphanage this afternoon after our very last visit with Faith before our court appointment tomorrow morning - the appointment that will decide for certain whether or not she will be our daughter - when I was overcome with this tremendous feeling of fear and saddness. I was standing in the middle of the visiting room, holding Faith in my arms, rocking her back and forth as I always do on our visits while she stares up at the stars painted on the ceiling above our heads. Jenna was singing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" and filming Faith as her body hung limply in my arms, her lips the same bluish tint we'd grown used to over the past few weeks exhausted from the hour of playing we'd done. I knew that in a few minutes we would have to hand over our daughter to her caregivers and walk out of the orphanage and that we wouldn't get to see her again for at least 10 days. All I could think of in that moment was walking out of the hospital the evening that Jackson had died after handing him over to Karen, and knowing in those moments that we would never lay eyes on our beautiful son ever again.

And suddenly the overwhelming fear hit me. What if this is it? What if this is the last moment I ever lay eyes on my beautiful little girl? What if the judge says no? What if they send us home after all of this empty handed? What if, in the next ten days something happens to this little girl?

I tried to shake the thoughts from my head... "But she's doing so well!" I told myself, because despite the blue lips and the fact that she got tired so easily, every single doctor we'd seen had told us that Faith was doing incredibly well. I looked down at her, light as a feather in my arms. Her breathing steady and her tongue as always sticking slighty from between her pouty lips.

It was then that it hit me like a ton of bricks... so was Jackson.

Then I panicked.

I couldn't breathe, my heart raced and my body felt numb. Sweat poured down my back and tears filled my eyes. I quickly handed Faith to Jenna before I collapsed on the couch, unbuttoning the top buttons of my polo... anything to help get a little air.

"Oh my God, Nick!" Jenna had her own panicked look as she hovered over me, Faith snuggled comfortably on her shoulder as her mommy peered down upon her daddy with concern. "Are you okay?"

I shook my head... "I-I-I don't think I can do this."

Jenna's face fell. I could see the tears glistening in her own eyes as she hugged Faith tighter to her and began spitting upset words out at me faster than I could stop her. "B-but Nick we've come this far... we can't do this. YOU can't do this. And I... I LOVE her... and no... just, Nick no." I watched as she clung to our baby and moved across the room into the corner. She was crying and so now, was Faith, her little lips and hands growing bluer with each scream.

I stood and hurried quickly towards her, realizing my mistake and knowing I had to fix things fast. "Oh my God Jenna... No!" I whispered the words as I reached her... as I reached the two of them. "I didn't mean it like that. I just... I meant. Oh God." I shook my head, wiping my own tears as I put my arm around Jenna and pulled her close, hugging the two of them to my chest. Reminders of that day in the hospital when the two of us held Jackson together for the last time stirred within me again and I had to fight back even more tears. I reached out and gently rubbed Faith's back, watching as her sobs turned to quick gasps until finally after several long and scary minutes she rested her head against Jenna's chest and stared deeply into my eyes.

I looked up and found Jenna staring at me in much the same way. I shook my head, "I'm sorry." We walked over to the couch together, Jenna sat beside me and turned Faith around in her lap so that she was sitting up looking at us both. She smiled and my heart melted just a little more for the girl I thought I already loved as much as possible. And this is why she scared me so much.

"If that's not what you meant Nick... then what did you mean?"

I sighed, tears rolling down my cheeks as Faith reached out to take my finger in her tiny hand, "I just... I meant, I don't know if I can walk out of here today and leave her. I just meant that... I'm scared Jenn. I know we've done this every single day for the past three weeks, but this is different. This time I'm scared we won't get her back. I'm scared they'll say no. I'm scared something will happen and this is gonna be the last time we're ever gonna be with her."

Jenna looked at me and tears welled up in her eyes once more. She reached over and grabbed my hand, bringing it up to her face to wipe the tears, "I'm scared too," she whispered... "But we're gonna make it. She's ours... I can feel it in every part of my body."

I smiled, lifting Faith from Jenna's arms as the clock ticked closer to the moment we'd have to say good bye.

"You know," Jenna whispered, still wiping the tears from her face as she reached over and tickled Faith under the chin and watched her smile a pale, toothy grin... "I never thought I'd ever love someone as much as Jack... but I do... Oh how I do."

I nodded, kissing my daughter on the head, allowing myself to imagine for the briefest of moments how our lives would be in less than two weeks when we headed home to Florida and settled down to the happiness we'd been waiting on for years. "Me too... God, me too."

We spent the next five minutes piling on as much love as we could. I can't even remember how many times the two of us told Faith we loved her. How many times I assured her we were coming back. How many times Jenna said, "Don't forget us okay... we're not gonna forget you."

We sang her song to her and kissed her cheeks and fingers and ears and head, and I blew kisses on her neck and listened to her soft little laugh that I loved. Oh how I loved her.

And then they told us it was time to go and that fear hit me all again and all at once. I kissed her one last time and handed her over to her nanny, assuring her a million times and more that we would be back so very soon. And Faith cried. For the first time since we'd arrived at the orphange weeks before, our daughter reached out her arms for us and she cried.

And we cried.

I wanted to take Faith and run... but I didn't. I just watched as the nanny walked from the room with my daughter and I turned to my wife and took her in my arms and together the two of us walked from the room more resolute than ever before that we had to prove to the judge in the morning that this little girl was OUR little girl and that we were going to take her home with us no matter what.

For weeks after Jackson's death Jenna and I crawled beneath the covers on our bed, pulled the curtains on the windows tightly shut and refused to acknowledge the world.

Well... no... that's not entirely true. Before we were able to do this, we were faced with impossible responsibility of planning a memorial service for our infant son. And let me tell you, if there's a moment in my life that ranks second in painfulness to the moment I walked out of the hospital without my son, it's the moment I had to walk into that funeral home two days later and identify his body.

It's a moment indescribable except to say this -- even days following death and all that accompanies it... even then, he looked beautiful. And that's so unfair. To know that here's this beautiful little boy, still perfect in every way - his eyelashes long and curling, his dark hair smoothed across his forehead, his lips creased forever into the signature pout we'd come to know and love... perfect in every way but one. The one that makes all the difference. The evil reality of death.

Jenna held him that day, walked right into the room and picked him up, rocked him in her arms and kissed his tiny head as if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if she'd only left him for a moment. As if she was picking him up from the sitters house and preparing to take him home. Only, it was the most unnatural thing in the world and I could tell through her tears that she was breaking. I stood by her side, rubbing her back, my hand on Jackson's head, but I was unable to do much more than that.

We stayed that way for a long time before the tears finally seemed to dry and Jenna edged away, gently laying Jack down on the velvet covered table where he'd been when we entered the room. I helped her get him dressed in a diaper and his last outfit - the tiny sleeper with the green elephants that he was supposed to wear home from the hospital. It was scary to touch him and I was afraid anything we did would do more damage to his already battered little body, but Jenna moved with grace and ease, the spirit of of mother. She knew she couldn't hurt him anymore and so she made sure to take in every part of him one last time. Finally she swaddled him in a blue blanket one of her best friends had knit for him. The blanket was soft and fuzzy, the kind of blanket you could imagine wrapping yourself in forever.

The last thing she did that afternoon was place a toy elephant next to him. An elephant that matched his sleeper and was embroidered with the words, "Thank Heaven for Little Boys." I remember thinking how ironic. I remember wondering if maybe we hadn't been thankful enough, because in our case Heaven had taken our boy away.

I don't remember a lot after that. I know that at one point I walked past a desk in the funeral home with information for families. And I know that one paper stood out over the rest. It stated that "Death is a Natural Part of Life". Well I'm here to tell you there's nothing natural about the death of a child. Nothing natural about burying your own flesh and blood. Nothing natural about planning a memorial after seven weeks when you were planning on the rest of your life at the very least.

We had to sit down with a man in a small room at the funeral home and discuss our "wishes" that afternoon when our only real wish was to have our son alive. We had to pick out a casket in which to bury our child when we didn't want to bury him at all. A casket that would have to be special ordered and overnighted because those weren't the kind of caskets the funeral home kept on hand. Because those are the kind of caskets that remind everyone of something too painful to even think about.

We had to choose readings and songs for the service. We had to think of what we'd say and who we'd include... when all we wanted was for someone else to do it all for us. But as the parent of a dead child, you don't get that. Sure you get a lot of offers for help, and they are certainly, most of them, genuine... but there's nothing anyone can do to really help you.

In the end we decided on a private service just for family and closest friends. Just for those individuals in our lives who'd shared in Jackson's life. In the end, Jenna chose the 'perfect' songs... songs about losing your child that I will never ever listen to again. In the end I somehow stood beside my wife on that rainy Saturday in August and held myself together as I was hugged repeatedly. As friends and family offered their condolences. Somehow I managed to stay upright in the cemetery through the pouring rain and hold my wife as they lowered our baby boy into the ground, and she collapsed beside me.

And when everyone left after that dark day, Jenna and I crawled into our bed beneath the covers, we closed the blinds and shut out the light and we stayed there for weeks. Not because it's what we wanted to do, but because it's what we needed.

Closest friends brought food. They asked us if they could do anything, asked if we were okay.

But we weren't, and in those moments it was impossible to believe we ever would be again.

And then, three weeks after the funeral I awoke to the sunrise spilling into the room, the window's open, a cool fall Tennessee breeze floating gently in. For the first time in forever, it actually felt good. I turned over on my side to cuddle closer to Jenna, longing for the closeness we'd shared those past few weeks, longing for that same escape we'd found every morning in each other. I realized instead that for the first time in three weeks, her side of the bed was empty. I could hear singing through the open doorway, the sounds of her beautiful voice echoing through the morning, and so I climbed out of bed and followed sound down the hall to the door at the end. The door we hadn't opened since the night our son had died.

The sight of her there in Jackson's nursery was both comforting and heartbreaking. This room was supposed to be for him. It was made for him. From the carefully painted lighthouse mural to the nautical themed bedding with the sailboats Jenna had let me pick because I dreamed of one day taking my son sailing with me, the way my own father had done so many years ago. There was the crib against the wall he'd never sleep in and the changing table we'd never change him on. The closet and the dresser filled with clothes he'd never wear. The shelves lined with books we'd never get to read. There were the picture frames we'd never fill with pictures and the rocking chair we'd never get to rock him in. Painful momentos, every single one of the memories we'd never get to make.

Jenna was sitting in the rocking chair now, she'd turned it so it faced the big window looking out on the backyard and the wooded area behind our house. In her arms she held the teddy bear Jackson slept with in the hospital. She was rocking back and forth and singing the song she had chosen for his memorial;

It was a song I promised myself I'd never listen to again... but it sounded beautiful when she sang. It sounded beautiful to hear her sing again. She didn't know I was there, standing in the empty doorway, her voice bringing fresh tears to my eyes. I realized it'd been weeks since I'd allowed myself to cry.

The hot tears spilled down my cheeks and Jenna stood, carefully she laid the teddy bear in the crib and turned to find me standing there. She walked silently over and melted into my arms. Our tears mixed together then as we stood there crying in the doorway of our son's room for long minutes that seemed like forever.

"Nick", Jenna whispered, wiping fresh tears as she pulled away from my embrace and looked up into my eyes, "We can't do this anymore."

I looked at her with questioning eyes. "What can't we do Jenna?"

"This..." she whispered, waving her arm around the room and then down the hall towards our bedroom. "We have to keep living... we have to get up and get on with our lives, even if it sucks so much all I really want to do is go crawl back into bed right this minute."

I nodded and sighed because she was right. "What should we do?" I asked, hoping that she would be the first to offer a suggestion.

She shook her head. "I don't know Nick... what do people do after they lose a baby? They should probably write a book for this. I mean... maybe we should take a shower I guess... because we do sort of stink.

I laughed... for the first time since our son had died I actually laughed. And then I felt bad about it because, well... isn't it bad to laugh after your child dies? I turned away from Jenna, ashamed.

"It's okay Nick," I heard her whisper as she reached out and touched my arm. "It's okay to laugh."

I turned back to her and shook my head, "It doesn't feel okay."

"I know."

I nodded, because she did know, just as well as I did. We were in this together.

Little did Jenna or I know that that moment, in the doorway of Jackson's bedroom that morning, was the beginning of a long and painful healing process. We'd let it in... let it begin. We decided to take things one day at a time and we began with a shower and a tiny bit of laughter.