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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 2017th year, I vow to embrace both.

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

Comments

  • Oh, thank you for sharing this beautiful story ♥ And prayers (mostly) every day for you and your little one, and for your big and bigger ones, too, as you’ve gone right to my heart ♥

    January 2, 2017
  • “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.” That whole paragraph is so beautiful it makes my heart hurt.

    May God bless you and Randy and all those precious babies! Keep making our hearts hurt – we readers need it! 🙂

    January 2, 2017
  • Sue Cumbie

    I will spend 2017 filled with hope. Although he was cancer free for 8 months my 8 year old grandson, it seems, has a tumor growing in his neck. There is a 1% chance that the neuroblastoma hasn’t reared it’s ugly head. So I pray and I HOPE! The doctor says there’s no cure for recurring neuroblastoma, and yet I HOPE.

    January 2, 2017
  • Beautifully written post as usual, Jolina. Happy New year — and congrats on your pregnancy. I didn’t know! Wishing you the absolute best in the new year, my friend.

    January 2, 2017
  • “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.”

    i know of this on an intensely personal level.
    sometimes parents grieve the loss of a child still alive.

    praying for your wee babe in the womb.
    bless you dearly …

    January 2, 2017
  • Judith Cooper

    As always, I enjoy your post, not about your niece and certainly not about your scare. I am always encouraged by your faith and determination. I will pray along the way and please keep us posted. Thank you for sharing your family with us. Happy New Year and may 2017 be full of blessings for you and your family.

    January 3, 2017
  • Nann

    Dear Jolina, again you’ve gifted me with a precious peek into your life. Thank you for always giving me reason to dig a bit deeper in my brain and reflect. “Happy New Year” won’t be for me just another light phrase, but truly wishing the best of 2017 …because we all know deep in our hearts that there will always be some bit of “unravel” somewhere in this beautiful fabric that helps us cherish & treasure the total picture of our lives. Happy New Year to you and your family, Dear Lady!

    January 4, 2017

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