Today, my nostalgia is big and comes from the deepest happiness- the kind of happiness that is sadness because it comes from love. A love that is so big that you can feel it tear, break, irreversible. I love you so much I know that only a love this big could see eternity and that I will miss so much of it- aware that it is also attached to the life that I am in this time, a cycle that will end. And I can’t believe something eternal will end for me, the experience of it as I know it. Never again on this waters. Never again will I feel this. Never again will your new eyes open my new heart.
I hope one day you read this, and know how it felt to remember everyday one day. That I loved you like this on your first birthday, revisited memories every day, watched your photos and videos 1000 times, like crazy. And I’m collecting the pieces of that day, that week, that month, this year, every day.
The day you were born I was born, my eyes open, your presence, the millimeters of your fingers, your ears, your eyelashes. I followed your eyes in awe, your wonder. I was born too, my head out of the water, and I could breathe the world alive, bubbling, taste the sweet bitter flavors of life. A life that is flawed and beautifully perfect, fragile and immense.
And I was scared. The kind of scared that is strength, that pushes you up. Paralyzed for seconds but always moving to the thousand rushes of blood to my head.
On month 1 I waited for your eyes to open, for your smile. It felt like the energy of the world would travel down your spine and into your toes, then your arms, and then straight into my heart. I would run to my cold tea in the table and run back to you again.
On month 2 you where happy, extremely happy, and then sad, extremely sad. I carried you carefully around the house, walked in circles, showed you the ocean, watched you stretch your arms, slowly. I would hold you near my heart, celebrate your hands opening, trying to touch the toys on that gym, lie next to you for hours, photograph you every morning on the sofa with your pirate hat. We welcomed you with a little party and your uncle Josh and aunt Louise.
On month 3 you were wise. I listened to what you had to say, your opinions about everything. I struggled to take you places on our little stroller, the wind making us cold. I cried. I watched videos on how to do things, googled everything, figured out the baby carrier, clipped here, clipped there.
On month 4 we mastered the baby carrier, walked out with our carrier dancing, facing the world, looking at each other sometimes. I loved you more.
On month 5 you discovered some powers on your hands and feet. We went to pick up Aniela (friend/aunt) from the Airport, saw the green leaves on the trees through the window. That was epic.
On month 6 you found our way to sitting position on our new stroller. I made sounds and noises to make you laugh the craziest laugh.
On month 7 it was summer. We walked to the beach. I watched you feel the sand in your feet, your little toy dinosaurs disappear and appear under the bucket. You would crawl backwards, and I would see your smile, proud of yourself, looking at me. I was proud of you every time.
On month 8 you went forward. I called your dad. Made a big fuzz. You felt huge, powerful.
On month 9 we were reading that magasin together, listening to the Beatles, Bruno Mars, our music playlist growing, our dancing walks getting crazier. We traveled to Amsterdam.
On month 10 we decided on a day care, and I started collecting good byes. The end was close, our days together like this, the days we hugged. The days you would dance on your high chair, with your hands up. The days we walked to the Aarhus Library, or ran, under the rain.
On month 11 we went home for Christmas, to the warm breeze of Colombia, and we saw the palm trees, you played the drum that my dad gave you, saw the Viking tent that my sister made for you. I showed you my family, your family, the way the ocean looks where I grew up, the flowers, the dark sand.
It’s being one year. One year and here we are, still breathing, still smiling.
Thank you for coming to me, for picking me, for trusting me. I never thought I would make it this far. I survived. You survived me. I used to think I was invincible, limitless, only scared of people, maybe. It is strange how life works. Im not scared of people talking, of people being people anymore, no such thing as shame, but as my awareness grows towards the limits of my body, the world, time, towards the power of vulnerability, I can only fear one thing: that something will happen to you, to all that beauty.
Because I love you.
Like my heart is amplified, singing, crying, jumping, doing all the things your heart does, like we are one. Sometimes I think I lost it, that my heart is not mine anymore, but it is mine more that ever, and yours, and the moon, the stars, the skies. I feel free. Because I can love all the love that I have.
My epiphany: Love is everything. You. It is not death that has no limits. It is life.
An epiphany is an experience of sudden and striking realization. It can apply in any situation in which an enlightening realization allows a problem or situation to be understood from a new and deeper perspective. Epiphanies are studied by psychologists and other scholars, particularly those attempting to study the process of innovation.
Epiphanies are relatively rare occurrences and generally follow a process of significant thought about a problem. Often they are triggered by a new and key piece of information, but importantly, a depth of prior knowledge is required to allow the leap of understanding.Famous epiphanies include Archimedes‘s discovery of a method to determine the density of an object (“Eureka!”) and Isaac Newton‘s realization that a falling apple and the orbiting moon are both pulled by the same force.