Nadja M Lubiw-Hazard

We climb into the double kayak and push off into the lake. The sun is sparkling on the grey-green water, bright little flashes like twinkling Christmas lights, and I can feel its heat beating down on my cheeks, and on the backs of my hands and bare arms. We’re skimming along the surface of the lake, the blades of our paddles dipping and pulling through the water with a steady synchronicity, and as we do, a burst of clarity flashes through me, brighter than the sunlight glittering on the water. A fleeting moment of wild faith hits me – I can be happy again! My daughter, Maddie, is gone – dead over a year ago now, on the day she lost her first baby tooth – but today I’m happy.  The thought is like the tiniest plink of a pebble dropped into the lake, the pureness of that sound, followed by rings of water radiating out in wider and wider circles, echoing back at me: happiness, happiness, happiness. The feeling falters and then dissipates, but it leaves me with the taste of sunshine in my mouth.

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