2007 Retrospective

So, for the past few weeks, I have been participating in a writer's forum. Basically, there are weekly writing assignments which are then critiqued by the group and also by a couple of published authors (sorry, I can't say who they are). The assignment for this week was to write about the year 2007 in retrospect, using something in nature as inspiration. I received great feedback on the following essay, and I am now thinking of expanding it a bit and sending it to an editor I am acquainted with. I thought I'd share here.


2007 Retrospective

The valley is covered in snow, draping the world in a white blanket. The city stands in stark relief against the backdrop of the mountains. The air is brutal and crisp, battering the lungs with each deep breath. Crystals of ice cling to the tree branches and catch the light, sending rainbows dancing across the snow on the ground. Absorbing this early morning picture I try, and am unable, to recall the scents of summer. I know it should smell like cut grass and ripening peaches, the river that runs through my favorite grove, the salty-sweet scent of children’s sweat. In the same way I cannot recall the events of the last year. Certainly I know what the memories should be made of but there is so much heartache, so much uncertainty… like broken china gathered into a paper sack. Who knew I’d have to reach out and grasp the broken shards to grow into myself? The cuts, and the resulting scars, are part of me now, like the small chickenpox mark on my forehead, or the tattoo that has been etched on the curve of my lower back.

Nothing from the last year turned out as I expected. My resolutions from last year included such things as travel to Costa Rica with my then-husband and our friends and publish at least 4 academic papers. Go to the gym five times a week. Learn to snowboard.

Enter difficult pregnancy. Enter new baby. Enter divorce. Enter single parenthood.

Enter a whole new life that is so different than the life I lived before.

Even my environment is different, reflecting the huge upheavals that have occurred over the past year. A little girl’s crib resides in what was once an office for a small but successful business; tiny soft animals and jolly little people smile their silly grins from a bookshelf that once housed scientific journals and MLA format writing guides. Her playful laugh bubbles and fills the corners of our home, chasing away the echoes of hurtful words and the desolation of the bitter silence that once prevailed. The antique cabinet that once stored his liquor now contains the tools of my livelihood: stacks of journal articles, a statistics text, an external hard drive. The empty space in my bed does not spark feelings of loss or longing, but instead inspires dreams of a new love affair, a healthy relationship; one that fills and nurtures body, mind and spirit. One that is full of life and light. But for now, there is space, and in that space, I am finding room to breathe again.

The winter stretches long before me, and I trying to not only endure but also to enjoy this season. There is peace and stillness in the cold and in the solitude, and I try to be present with it. I try to find my center in it. I tell myself that I can cultivate warmth inside of me. I remind myself to find the beauty of each season: the icy frost of winter, the tender green of spring, the lazy heat of summer and the earthy tones of autumn.

This New Year stretches long before me, as well, with the promise of both harsh winter storms and peaceful spring mornings. I look forward to walking across the leaves in the fall and lying on the cool grass during the hot summer nights. But for now, for tonight, I am content, ringing in the New Year not with champagne or fireworks, but instead by listening to the quiet, even breathing of my beautiful baby girl. She is the miracle that has emerged from that bag of broken china, from the pieces of a life that once was. She is worth enduring every winter storm and every summer shower. She is the moon, the stars and the sun, and holds the promise of a thousand spring sunrises.