A Sky Full of Stars

At this time last year, I wrote a letter to 2015. I asked the future if it could bring a little more understanding.

I had flowery hopes and dreams about achieving peace and love in our increasingly ignorant and violent planet – when, most of the time, I don’t even know how to keep peace in my own heart.

So, I learned to find beauty in the small victories.

For me, peace in 2015 was the day my husband’s 8-week chicken pox came to an end.

The day we both got full time jobs, after months of unemployment.

Peace in 2015 looked like America and Cuba bringing their 50-year standoff to an end.

And China changing their One-Child policy.

And Prime Minister Trudeau personally greeting Syrian refugees in the airport of their new homeland.

My best friend organizing and raising hundreds of dollars in less than 24 hours to help feed medical staff after a local mass shooting – that was peace and love.

In February, when our baby should have come, when I got a tattoo instead. Love all over the smoke filled parlor. Peace found in the familiar buzzing warmth of ink upon skin, letting me wear my scars on the outside.

Serving hot chocolate to elderly people whose cheeks are rosy after a city tour of the Christmas lights.

The last scene of the series finale of True Detective.

Skating together for the first time, on the lake where we got married.

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Our music, our saving grace.

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And yesterday, when I spent 3 hours with Tova. I helped her mum deliver her a year and a half ago, just before I realized I was having a miscarriage at the same time. I never wrote about Tova like I did for Eva, my first doula baby, because the memories were too painful.

But now, I can. Because she deserves some recognition.

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This is our journey: the day she was born, one month later, and yesterday – when she discovered snow for the first time, and then promptly plopped herself down in my lap with Dr. Seuss.

She is a ray of light – full of smiles and hugs with no warning that steal my breath away. When the Russian alphabet song comes on, she immediately stops what she’s doing because she must wiggle and squeal and dance her butt off until it’s over.

When we bonked heads by accident, she said “sorry!” and rubbed my head multiple instances; kindness abounds.

I might not have been as ready to face 2016 if I’d not faced yesterday. I’d like to think Tova and my babe would have been friends too.

So, instead of making a list of all the high and lofty goals I expect for 2016, I’m just gonna let it be. Do its thing. And whatever happens, I will keep looking for the small victories. Because a bunch of tiny stars against the black sky will eventually take over the night.

I can wait for that.