The chill of the May Lake Tahoe waters seeped through my skin, an icy reminder of the late spring that clung stubbornly to the mountains’ frosted tips. Yet laughter echoed across the shore as my children danced through the surf, their small figures darting in and out of the still crystal like water. The way my son, his cheeks flushed with excitement, would jump to his sister as she placed him on an intertwine and played his feet was a sight that chased away their shivers. My daughter, with her long sandy blonde hair flowing behind her like seaweed caught in a gentle current, would then race to the beach together to dig tirelessly in the sand. Their small hands sculpting mounds which became towers in their mind only to be soon offered as a sacrifice to the tide. It was pure, untamed joy — the kind that felt slightly less foreign as of late amidst the weight of this past year.
Each splash and squeal felt like a memory inscribed against the somber backdrop of a year marked by absence. As my wife stood nearby, watching the children with a soft smile, I could see that her belly was growing, each day bringing us closer to the moment we once celebrated but now approached with a complex tapestry of anticipation and fear. The closer we got to that date, the more the feeling of dread mingled with the joy I fight to maintain. I hovered in a strange in-between, where the beauty of our family’s laughter was shadowed by the weight of what we had lost.
Despite the heavy heart that has anchored me, I turned towards the warmth of these glimmers of lightness and let my body relax. With each grain of sand my fingers touched as I helped my daughter dust off before reapplying sunscreen, I felt a flicker of hope in her moan to continue playing and the smile of joy when she was free to return to the sand tent and those ice-like waters. Memories crafted here, amidst the sparkling backdrop of mountaintops in the distance echoing laughter, were moments against the tide of uncertainty. I wasn’t sure what the following months might hold, but I am determined to hold this day in my heart as a bridge between what once was and what may come next.
The exhaustion nestled deep in my bones was a reminder of the tumultuous path that had led me here, a pathway carved through grief yet punctuated by these fleeting moments of joy. It felt like training for a race I’d never signed up for. Yet this evening, as the sun dipps lower, banding the sky with hues of orange and pink, I embrace the rhythm of breath — an inhale of fresh mountain air, an exhale laced with long-held fears. Perhaps if I can lean into this, I can find my flow, just like in my best training sessions this last week amidst the mountains.
The day was a fragile gift blessed with family, but it was also a declaration: we were here, we were together, and we will continue to craft our story, one precious moment at a time.