Saturday, March 16, 2013

Whispers of Fear Outside My Kitchen Window

I woke up last night at 1:30 a.m. with indigestion.  I walked downstairs into the kitchen and without turning on the lights I poured myself a glass of fizzy water and took a drink in order to relieve some of the pressure in my chest.  As I drank the glass of water in front of my kitchen window, I gazed out on the front lawn, looking past the tree with the small bird feeder and onto the neighbor's house that was illuminated by the moon reflecting on the newly fallen snow.  And in that moment I shuttered with fear.

I was taken back to the night when Nora was delievered into this world.  The last time I felt her move, the last time I was with her when she was alive.  That night,  December 29th, I got out of bed because I noticed that Nora hadn't been moving as much and went downstairs in the dark, without turning any lights on, and stood infront of the kitchen window like I did last night. I grabbed a piece of chocolate, left over from Christmas dinner with my sister and her husband and drank an ice cold glass of water in order to get Nora to move before I feel asleep that night. 

As I did this I stared out the window, again looking past the small tree in the front of our house with the birdfeeder and onto neighbor's house that was glowing from the remnants of the full moon just days before.  As I finished my piece of chocalate and drank the rest of the water I braced through a contraction.  After it passed, I laid my hands on my stomach waiting for Nora to kick, punch, and jiggle, like she always would after a sugar rush.  With my hands anticipating her movement, I took in the beauty of the natural world outside my window.  The moonlight reflecting off the mountains of snow, making the trees and houses twinkle and dance in the darkeness of the cold winters night.  Then suddenly, there was a kick, then a roll, and another small movement.

I smiled down at my stomach and was reasurred that my baby girl was responding to me and the sugar I had just jolted her awake.  I took one last look out the window and contemplated it's wonder and went back to bed knowing that the next time I woke up, my life would be forever changed, because my baby girl was on her way into this world, she was ready for it's beauty, it was time for her to experience it's wonder.  My contractions were coming and so was she.

As I crawled back into bed that night I felt her move and punch me again.  I was satisfied.  I was reassured.  I was ready for the next day, the moment when my life would change when I woke again.  Little did I know that my life would change in a way I never expected.

Standing in front of the kitchen window last night brought me back to that night in December. The last time I was filled with joy out of innocent anticipation.  I was brought back to a moment when life was still secure, predictable, and full of hopeful possiblities.  I was brought back to the moment when I was content. 

However, last night standing in the kitchen, and being brought back to these moments of trusting the universe and mother nature and taking in all her beauty, did not bring me joy, in all actuality, it brought whispers of fear and chills of terror throughout my body.  Standing in the darkness of the house last night, with the moon shining once again on the snow, watching the light dancing and glittering on the neighborhood houses and trees did not bring me joy, but a moment of dread, of trauma, from knowing that at one point in my life I felt foolishly safe in this world.  I trusted the universe and all her beauty and now that trust had been shattered.

Realizing this, I let the fear wash over me one last time as I put my cup down in the kitchen sink.  As I turned away from the window and walked back up stairs to crawl into bed with my husband and little doggy, George, I turned my back on mother nature and all her beauty that was teasing me from outside my kitchen window.  Tonight, I did not see her beauty outside the window anymore, I only saw my fear and distrust in her.  Mother nature, like the moonlight, only allows you to dance joyfully among her moonbeams for a moment, before daylight comes and the sun light takes away the magic of the unpromising moon.

I pulled the sheets over me and snuggled into bed next to Nick.  He murmmerd, "Is everything alright?" and I replied, "Yes, I'm fine."  And that is the truth, everything is fine, but the magic is gone.  Maybe one day fear will no longer linger outside my kitchen window, but magic will greet me for another season.  I hope next time the season is longer and the magic of the moonbeams lasts a lifetime.   

1 comment:

  1. This is beautifully and poignantly written, Lindsey. I, too, have these types of moments in the night-time...the most difficult time of the day for me. Wishing you peace and comfort today (and each day); you do not walk alone.


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