Maine news, sports, weather | Kennebec Journal, Augusta, Maine

PARTY OF TWO: Taking another swing at it

Morning Sentinel Staff

Angie was swinging on the swingset at our local elementary school playground the other day, not a care in the world.

Her pink-and-blue sneakers were pointed toward the clouds and she was going faster and faster, getting braver and braver.

"Woo hoo, Mom!" she said. "Look at me. I'm flying high as the sky!"

That's when she fell.

Flat on her back.

She never saw it coming.

My baby cried harder than I had ever seen her cry. Her tiny chest heaved and tears rolled down her red, burning cheeks. I held her close as she wailed and rubbed her backside, which had borne the brunt of her spill.

But after about five minutes or so, she was done with all of that crying business. She brushed the dirt off her body and plucked the wood chips out of her hair. Then my spunky 3-year-old decided to climb right back onto the swing.

"OK Mom, I'm all better," she said. "Now let's try that again."

It was one of those moments that makes so much sense that you cannot help but laugh to yourself.

My daughter's fall and her gumption to get right back onto the swing is altogether how I feel about love.

Love.

That thing that takes us so high and drops us off so hard, that we're never quite sure exactly how we feel about it.

For a long time, I thought I was finished with love. Like Angie, I was flying pretty high before it dumped me flat on my back. I never saw it coming either.

My world was spinning, and I swore I would never go near that swing, that stupid swing, ever again.

But like Angie, I've reconsidered.

I have finally brushed the dirt off my body. No more wood chips in my hair. So I think it's time to give it another shot.

Of course I'm still trying to figure out how to forget the pain of landing on my ass. And I'm not quite sure how, exactly, to believe in love again or really trust someone.

I guess I'll learn as I go.

After all, is there really any other way?

My daughter and I have realized that swinging comes with risks. And every one of those risks is worth the feeling you get when you are flying high, when it seems like nothing -- and no one -- can bring you back down to earth.

It's worth that butterflies-in-the-belly feeling you get when you and your swing are defying gravity.

It's worth feeling like you can transcend anything -- the trees, the clouds, the pain of the past.

Angie didn't want to miss out on that kind of joy, and neither do I.

So here we go.

Perhaps love is better the second time around anyway. After a divorce or a breakup, you learn a few things about love and about yourself.

I sure did.

You learn that "forever" is just a word. Everything you see and feel can disappear at any moment, so you appreciate what you have every single day.

You realize love isn't about finding someone to make you whole. You know that job is yours -- and yours alone.

You know that love is not something you say. It is something you do. It's not a dozen roses. It's a kiss on the back of the neck.

You also understand that you might fall again. And again and again. But Angie didn't dwell on that, and neither will I. In life you fall. If you don't fall, then you don't live.

After she climbed back onto the swing, my daughter was brave and happy, like she had no memory of having just crash-landed. After a minute or two, she was swinging just as high as she had been before she fell, aiming her feet to the clouds and smiling up at the sun.

I watched her, amazed at her resiliency, and asked why she had decided to swing again.

"Because you have to try again, Mom," she said as she pumped her tiny feet toward the blue sky. "It's fun."

Maybe it is just as simple as that.

Wendy Fontaine's "Party of Two" column appears the first and third Sundays of the month. Her e-mail address is: party2fontaine@gmail.com. You can also follow Party of Two on Facebook.