Snow melts. Trickles to torrents. Waterfalls cascade down from the high country, spreading with them the colors of spring. Arctic poppies extend across fields that were once brown. Vibrant green moss creeps from the darkness. After a long and cold winter, the earth takes its first breath. And with that breath brings news that I was not expecting. Anna is pregnant.
I’ve read those words repeatedly, struggling to comprehend that my life is now more complicated than it used to be. I’m completely unprepared for the consequences of my own actions, and yet the timeline of my existence continues forward and consequences become reality, despite my inaction. Consequence is the wrong word. Effect? Result? I don’t think this is bad, but there must be some word between ‘bad’ and ‘good’ that escapes me at the moment.
For now, Anna is still up in the hills above town tending to the herds, while I trawl the ocean for fish. We see each other most evenings after I get to shore. Sometimes we’ll have time to go for a walk before we get tired, but most days are spent chatting around the dinner table. On occasion, I’ll get home late and find her fast asleep, snoring quietly under the covers. I crawl into bed and scoot towards her, wrapping my arms around her as I hold my hands against her belly. It’s simultaneously comforting and terrifying.
She isn’t due until the beginning of next year, but that’s irrelevant since time is meaningless. I’ve experienced this process once before and I know the challenges she will face, especially now that we lack access to modern medicine. There are no doctors in town, but news travels fast here and a few people approached us and told us not to worry. We know that children have been born in far more grim circumstances, but knowledge doesn’t ease the stress.
I remember when Azami was born. I remember the tears. I remember her first steps. Her first words. The way she looked at me. I was her whole world. Her laughter. Her smiles. I remember sleepless nights and endless warm sunny days at the park feeling soft grass under our feet. I remember sorrow. Crying. Sadness.
I’m unsure that I’ll able to love this child as I loved Azami. Afraid that their existence will live as a reminder of my failures as a human. My weakness. I hope that I can be the parent that I once was, but seeds of doubt were sown long ago. Looking back, I must admit that I’ve always doubted. Why would this new life be any different?
I’ve been here a little over a year and yet it feels like a lifetime has passed before me. I am old. Decrepit. My soul begs for death, and while I’m human, I am also an animal that struggles in the mire, desperate to escape. I know that I will push forward despite my circumstances because giving up doesn’t feel like an option to me.
On a different note, some of our neighbors had some pens so I should be good for a few more years.