A Heart Persuaded to Beat

Reflections on when the tide of life turns for the better

My children and I sit huddled, bundled in “dusted-off” coats and scarves from a forgotten winter wardrobe, on a low wall bordering the lake path, swinging our legs back and forth as we chat and poignantly savour what is probably our last “end of season” treat; our customary “lake side” ice cream. We shiver, along with the ducks and dog-walkers, cyclists and swans, whilst sycamore leaves dance in the “whipped-up” breeze around us.

 

I pull my coat tighter around myself and strengthen the hold on my son, who sits beside me, face smeared in ice cream and wobbling rather precariously in the wind that would threaten to blow him over, were he not anchored by me.

 

As I clumsily lick the far reaches of my lower lip and chin in an effort to stop chocolate from dribbling any further south, I think about how I love the transition from summer to autumn. The lake is choppy and a moody blue/grey today. It seems almost impossible to believe that only a fortnight ago we lounged in its shallows, under a baking sun, and indulged in splashing contests that threatened to choke us from gulping in too much water, whilst giggling uncontrollably. It is as if the lake has woken from a peaceful, lazy, summer “siesta” and is stretching its limbs and reviving itself, ready for the ravages of winter ahead. 

 

Due to recent persistent storms that have created a climate of sleeplessness in our household, our leg-room by the wall is compromised by a thick layer of flotsam and jetsam; sticks, old muddy plastic bottles, leaves and grit.

 

As my daughter chatters in the background, I am filled with such contentment and excitement about the forthcoming winter. I realise it isn’t just the seasonal change I love. Contrary to many, I love the moving forward of time. With the ticking of the clock comes endless possibilities; possibilities to change, to grow and to learn. Hearts can be mended, skills attained, friendships made, hearts broken again.

 

I think back to exactly a year ago, when I was in a lonelier place and time, muted in my own kind of private hell. I suffered from post-natal depression, what I now know to refer to as the “Thief That Steals Motherhood”. The onset of winter held nothing for me; after a summer feeling dead inside, it was simply another season to endure. I was an outsider looking in. The mountains offered no peaceful escape to my caged soul, the sunshine offered no warmth to my unfeeling skin, the glittering waters of the lake offered no cleansing purification to my self-loathing heart. My relationship with my partner may as well have been declared dead too, was it not for the children. Every question was an accusation. Every kind deed; a smokescreen for some hidden agenda. Every word uttered; misunderstood. The games we played...it all seems so ridiculous now.

 

I shiver again, but smile to myself. Change - it’s inevitable. The gentle summer breeze that has warmed and caressed our cheeks summer-long has now become an “icy bite”. And I am thankful to say that in contrast, whilst outside temperatures decrease, internal ones are “on the rise”, warming my heart and persuading it to beat again. My partner and I have survived the “season of difficulty”. I am in love once more and it feels wonderful!

 

Suddenly, awakening me from my thoughts, my daughter lets out a piercing shriek, making passers-by stand to attention and my little son jump out of his skin, “Mummy, Mummy! It’s the BOAT! It’s the BOAT!”

 

The two of them abandon the remainders of dribbling ice creams to a gritty, leafy demise and raise their arms up above their heads to concentrate on the job in hand; to wave like children-possessed at the vessel in the water before them.

 

The beautiful “La Suisse” paddle steamer, despite her capacity for 900 people, never ceases to delight us with her quiet elegance, grace and surprising speed, as she glides across the surface of the lake, like a magnificent, silent swan. One of many vessels owned by the CGN; “Companie Général de Navigation”, she has offered endless laps around this particular mass of central European fresh water known as the “Haut Lac” during summer months, like an efficient, careful and dutiful escort, to locals and tourists alike. She knows these waters well and they have known the reassuring rhythm of her paddle wheels, like a slow, steady heartbeat, for over 130 years. But she is nearly at the end of her summer time-table now, and so I feel it is a fitting time for us to say our “thank-yous” and goodbyes, at least until next year.

 

I join my children and, one hand clamped to my wobbling son, the other rises up and waves like a maniac, in utter abandon.

 

My 1 year old son turns to look at me, squinting up at me in the sun, show-casing his new, gleaming, pearly teeth in a mischievous and satisfied grin.

 

“Bo!” he declares and points ahead of him, “Bo! Bo!” He turns his face to the water again, excitedly.

 

My daughter squeals with delight and showers him with the praise of an older, more knowledgeable, 2 year old with a full 13 months of further life experience under her belt. 

 

“Well done, Noah! Good BOY!” Their closeness takes my breath away and I know that I am the outsider. They are privy to an intense sibling closeness and an understanding of their own language that I can only hope they will continue to allow me to witness, so magical it is.

 

His first word! My eyes prick with tears. He is growing, learning, changing. 

 

As the green leaves around us turn to burnt gold each and every second, we jump and dance, celebrating this amazing moment and creating another family memory, never to be forgotten.

Reviews

[frisco]

Thanks for sharing this family moment with us. Your thoughts on change, physical and emotional and on the forward moment of time were inspiring. I also liked the imagry of the lake. It was almost like being there. Well done !