Life’s Bittersweet Symphony

Life’s Bittersweet Symphony

The September night we wed, my husband and I slow-danced. All I remember is how the two of us rocked back and forth as the crystals embroidering the hem of my dress cracked beneath his rental shoes. My husband is not much of a dancer, and he danced in front of so many people only because his young wife wanted him to. But tonight, he danced again.

This time, he danced with our four-year-old daughter, who batted her eyes just like I had. My mountain man knelt on the carpet to be able to hold her, and they rocked back and forth as the instrumental version of “Bittersweet Symphony” played. I sat on the couch and watched them: her little hand holding tight to his blue and green flannel shirt, the Christmas tree sparkling behind them, the floor strewn with the detritus of make-believe, our two-year-old running back and forth with her blond hair matted from nap time. Tears came to my eyes as I took in the scene and held a hand over the little life growing in my belly, which I pray will get to join this circus, but not too soon.

Two nights ago, I spotted at nineteen weeks. We were having a belated Christmas Eve party at my sister-in-law’s house, and after I returned from the bathroom, I felt light-headed with fear. A little over a week before, my darling toddler-age niece had a health emergency that sent my husband and father-in-law sprinting over the hill toward my sister-in-law’s house. I ran over as well, as soon as I heard, and I will never forget holding my belly while running past the chicken coop, or the sight of my husband, sister-in-law, and niece, so quietly gathered on the bedroom floor as they waited for the ambulance to arrive.

It was a moment devoid of time. A juxtaposition between outward peace and inward chaos. Now, on our pseudo Christmas Eve, my niece was running around the house with her shiny brown curls bobbing, and I thought that I couldn’t be spotting because we’d already paid our traumatic dues for the year.

And yet, I know that sometimes, that’s not how life works.

We left the party soon afterward, and I went to bed with a book. But I couldn’t read. I could barely sleep. Even after the rest of the household quieted, I curled on my side and wondered if I’d really felt the baby move right before I noticed the spotting, or if it was just my imagination. I had no idea what time it was, but I knew I’d be more miserable if I looked at the clock. So I just lay there with one hand on my belly. I turned onto my back, and my belly jumped. The baby kicked and kicked, and I rested one hand on my womb and smiled in the darkness, somehow knowing all would be well.

And it is.

Life, I’ve found, is filled with this juxtaposition of beauty and pain and trying to annihilate the latter will only serve to annihilate both. For I wouldn’t have tears in my eyes, watching my husband dance with my daughter, if I couldn’t picture him one day dancing with her in a long white dress with crystals embroidering the hem; I wouldn’t have tears in my eyes, watching my niece run and smile, if I hadn’t seen the ambulance take her to the hospital one week before; I wouldn’t lie in bed, with one hand cupping my belly, if I didn’t fiercely love this tiny heart beating beneath my hand.

Yes, life is full of beauty and pain, and this 2017^th year, I vow to embrace both.

How are you going to embrace this beautiful life this year?