The end of another year. The chance to sit back and reflect on what has happened and what is yet to come.
If it were possible, I would literally set fire to 2015. Burn it down like a viking burial. Of course, knowing my luck, any fires set would turn into full on conflagrations. So I leave the matches where they are.
For a long time I thought that having a baby would erase every terrible thing. It was, after all, what I wanted more than I have ever wanted anything. It didn’t. I don’t mean to down play how much I love my son. Looking back on it, it was a little naive to think any one thing could get rid of all the other heartache. He is a darling, but it is unfair to saddle him with that kind of emotional responsibility. So instead, I will let him be what he is– my sweet, cuddly, fierce son.
New Years, like new babies, hold the promise of starting fresh. Of hitting the reset button. But perhaps this is a disingenuous way to start anything. You can’t leave it all behind. You have to take some of it with you.
So rather than pretend like 2015 didn’t happen, I will honor it for what it was. A crucible in which who I am and am becoming was forged.