Blank canvas
When we woke up this morning the world was smothered in white; a thick blanket of snow - the most we’ve had in a long, long time - had covered everything. Things look different on snowy mornings. Everything looks clean and new, the mundane becomes beautiful under a glittering veil of brilliant, sparkly white. Before long the stillness was pierced by the sound of excited little ones playing, throwing snowballs and making snow people of all shapes and sizes, leaving their little footprints all over the place. We wrapped Bubs in about 12 layers of clothing and, wearing tiny red wellies that used to be mine, he made his first foray out into the snow. It was so deep it was over the top of his boots in places and he couldn’t really walk in it but he had a great time, throwing snowballs for the dogs, watching Daddy’s attempts to build a snowman from the powdery white stuff and laughing at the sheer delight of it all. Laughter is the best medicine.
It hasn’t been an easy week. We had the second scan which showed our tiny baby, floating inside me, its little heart conspicuously still, a small ghost on the screen. The next day I went to hospital and by that evening I was home again, just me, no passengers on board. In many ways it was a relief; my pregnancy symptoms disappeared straight away and physically I hope I’ll be back to normal soon. My head might take a little longer.
Over the years, through thick and thin, I’ve learned that life is an unstoppable juggernaut, relentless in its going forward. No time to stand and stare. Sometimes the going forward is painful, we want to stop, wait, contemplate, grieve. But life goes on and it carries us with it like twigs in a stream, and as we are swept along somehow, inexplicably and without our noticing, our wounds begin to heal. And so we are letting life carry us just now; forwards to Christmas with our shining-eyed boy and his endless chatter about Santa, forwards to a new year filled with new challenges, new adventures, filled with dreams and with hope.