The pain and bliss of September 18

More than six years ago, our second daughter was born on this day, September 18. It was a girl, and we christened her Silje Kristiane. So, for the third time in four years we could celebrate the unspeakably precious gift of life. Six years later, to the date, and death came by to pay us a visit.

And thus the sensation of gratitude was decidedly dampened by the passing of my father. Almost five months down this personal timeline, these twin events have helped me put things in - I think - proper perspective: pain is a perpetual companion, and its continued presence really helps define what is really worth keeping; what is really worth guarding - almost jealously.

I certainly do not savour my moments of loss or failure, but without them I would more likely have strolled by my true blessings barely noticing them. E.g. this weekend we travelled to my in-laws in Norheimsund, situated in the picturesque district of Hardanger. The clear blue skie, the warming sun, the crisp and cold February mountain air, and my three children braving the slopes on their skis: it was a moment in stark contrast to what hit my family on September 18 last year.

Which is why I count it pure bliss to be able to share in the joys of these outings of ours, this undramatic, almost humdrum repetitiveness: trudging along on our skis with refreshments in a rucksack is no new thing to a Norwegian middle class family, but still it enhances my awareness that even if life here on earth may prove to be short, it is full of - not only pain - but also brief visitations of small joys we can share without reservation, regret or resentment.

And I think I draw much more strenght and inspiration from them now, having been solidly hit by one of pain's merciless jabs.