This past Tuesday marked the beginning of summer. At approximately 1:16 p.m. the sun reached its northernmost extreme and appeared to stand silent and still in the blue and white pillows of the sky. Later that same afternoon we drove to the hospital to visit a good friend who gave birth to a baby girl. It required entering and exiting the doors of a wholly familiar place, something I automatically dread because it conjures images of my father and the darkness of those hospital days. My husband and daughter were with me, but I hid from myself, not revealing any of the apprehension that could greet me in those halls. Somehow I kept expecting to ride the elevator with a man sitting in a wheelchair, the cannula in his nose and the oxygen trying to make that inhale-exhale sound.
I never encountered that man.
What I did experience surprised me. I held the hand of my daughter and marched out of the elevator and entered my friend’s room. With exuberance I gave her a bear hug and turned toward her little baby girl. I asked if I could hold her, this fresh pink petal of goodness in my arms. I gazed into her little eyes and I thought to myself, “This is the texture of a new beginning.” Holding that little baby jolted something inside. A punch in the core that didn’t sting, but felt comfortable. As if someone was yelling at me, saying, life isn’t always about endings. There are palapable beginnings too.
Sometimes I am mired in past grief, not willing to acknowledge all of the goodness of life. How could I forget the power of this kind of beginning? Its texture is one that you can breathe in and smile and remember. And ultimately yes, there are endings, but this reminder to relish the beginning radiates. And for the first time after two years, I took notice.
Do you relish beginnings? Or do your mire yourself in endings? What are different beginnings that have left an impression on you?
Image by liberalmind1012