Reflections on the Solstice and 3 years ago

The darkest part of the year is over.
The light is returning already.

Perhaps that’s why I awoke in such a good mood.
(Never mind the fact that I’m a morning person and almost always wake cheerfully.)

But I swear, there is already a difference in the light. As the solstice of winter approaches, the light thins. The rays of sunlight are sickly and thin. I glance outside my office door and see a more robust, a more vibrant sunlight spilling onto the plants and flowers.

Yesterday, as I leaned over my still-sleeping daughter to kiss her good-day, I started to cry silently; more accurately, tears spilled down my cheeks. What is there, I wondered, about today?

And as I watched her innocent, quiet, sleeping face—the face that makes me remember the single ultrasound I had during my pregnancy, when I was at 41 weeks to make sure the baby was healthy—the memories hit me with a vengeance.

Yesterday, on the Winter Solstice, on the darkest day of the year, I went into labour with my own coaxing and help from Black Cohosh.

The tears were bittersweet. At that moment in the still-dark-morning, I realized fully that the memory I carry of 21 December 2006 is my memory and mine alone. There was only one other person there with me, by my side. And he’s dead now.

Inducing your own labour was such a silly and yet such an intimate act. I shared that with B. We woke up that morning as usual, and I started taking the black cohosh tincture sublingually every 15 minutes. The grain alcohol of the tincture burnt my mouth. I continued to take the tincture sublingually every 15 minutes for at least five hours. We went for a walk in the woods near my parent’s house. I made a little bouquet of wild wheat and left it on the bank of the creek for Demeter. Do I believe? I don’t know. But I respect the idea of Demeter, and I respect fully what she and her daughter Persephone represent. I thought of the various Greek goddesses who were supposed to help women in labour; while I was not in labour at that point, I thought to them and wished that when my time to bring a child into the world came, that they would rush to my side and assist and protect not just my child, but also myself.

B was always very respectful of my dabbling in Greek mythology. He tired up when he saw my bouquet of wild wheat. I didn’t need to tell him who it was in honour of; he knew.

As we walked away from the bank of the creek and the humble and heartfelt offering, I asked, “Will she get it?”

”She already has.” He said, rubbing my sore back.

We returned to my parent’s house, and I continued to burn my mouth with the alcoholic tincture of black cohosh. I was (and remain) absolutely terrified of being induced in a hospital. It was balmy outside, and we sat on the back porch of my parent’s house. We watched my dog find a warm spot in the sun and stretch out. (Oh, how intelligent and brilliant animals are!) And then B and I did something we had never done before: Sudoku.

Previously, I had tried Sudoku and had no interest in it. But B and I were bored, and it was in the paper. We grabbed a pencil and started solving one together. He was much better at it than I. What was neat was that our solving strategies were different. Mine, at first, took me more time, but proved to be more efficient at solving the hardest sudoku puzzles. We explained our different strategies to each other as we did puzzle after puzzle after puzzle.

[Aside: after C was born, I continued doing sudoku and found I really did enjoy it. I became too good at it. Once I was able to solve the most advanced puzzles in under 5 minutes, I gave it up. (Temporarily, I’m sure, though it’s been a year since I last enjoyed solving a puzzle.) B lost interest in Sudoku as he couldn’t keep up with me, but as I look back, I realize/hypothesize that his inability to keep up with my pace was a sign of internal, mental struggle on his part. He was, after all, an advanced computer programmer. Code and computer languages also became a struggle for him as time progressed.]

At some point that evening, when my parents and sister were home, I went to sit on the porch by myself, in the dark. It was cold outside, but I was hot. I was sweating, and my head was throbbing. My dad peered out at me, and upon seeing me, simply said, “You’re in labour.”

My mom came out later and said, “Your father can just tell when a woman is in labour.” He apparently told her the same thing when she was pregnant with me, and she didn’t believe him. But he was right with my mom, and he was right in my case.

B came out and offered me dinner. I went inside and sat, picking at it. “I’m not really hungry.” My head hurt too much and my stomach was beginning to ache sporadically. (It is so obvious now, isn’t it—that was labour!)

Later that night, B and I went to bed. We curled up one last time together. I kept waking up with some pain in my back and my stomach hurting. The pain was short-lived, though, and exhausted, I’d fall right back asleep. I knew at that point I was indeed in labour.

So there you go…it’s such a personal, intimate, wonderful memory. And at the same time, it hurts to remember a little because I don’t have the person I thought I would have to recall these memories. To reflect, to laugh, to cry in happiness with.

I am so lucky and so happy I have A in my life. Please don’t think I am anything but grateful to the universe, the Fates, Demeter, and whatever other forces are at work for having our paths cross. I love him. I adore him. A, C, and I are a family. It feels so natural.

But it makes me sad when I think about inducing my labour and the birth of C (over 45 hours later) because…it was so obvious how much she was wanted by B. How much she was loved by B.

I just hope that one day, I can share this with her and she’ll believe me. She’ll believe in her heart that her biological father wanted her, loved her, would have done anything for her at that point. But that somewhere down the line, he got to sick to see clearly and to understand why he needed to take his medication. He started thinking he wasn’t good enough for her, for me.

Maybe he was right; maybe B wasn’t good enough for us. But that would be our call, not his.

I’m rambling now. I feel like I’ve come full circle. A year ago, I didn’t know A. A year ago, I embraced the waxing sunlight. Joy and happiness came into my life.

And so, I am consciously embracing the sunlight and all of nature. I am grateful for all forms of Life. I am grateful for everyone who has ever been in my life. I am sappy as hell, but I somehow have this instinct and know that good things will continue to come into my life.

I accept this. I embrace the possibilities.

I also know that there will be troubled times. Times when it might as well be the winter solstice and hope seems to be fading.

But these hard times are just as much a part of Life as the good times.

And so, I accept this and yes, even embrace this.

My eating disorder and my depression have caused me to miss out on so much Life.

No more.

I vow to live as fully, as wholly, as healthily, and as helpfully as possible. I vow to make the most of my time on earth. I vow to make the atoms that make the molecules that make the cells that make the tissues and organs that make me who I am the most productive and joyful as possible.

Take risks. Thrive. Flourish.

Live.