The Dandelion in the Spring

I’m watching Katniss at a distance, like I have countless times before. After all these years, she still has no idea the effect she can have. She’s watching our children, laughing as the little blond toddler with his mother’s gray eyes follows his older sister with a long dark braid and sparkling blue eyes. If you didn’t know her well, you wouldn’t be able to tell that she’s faced so much pain and heartache. You wouldn’t know about how many people she’d lost, the decisions she’d had to make, or the games she’d had to play. She says the same thing about me, that I’m still good at convincing people that every thing’s great, like I did during the Games. However we both know what the other’s been through, and after going through so much it’s a miracle neither of us were broken beyond repair.

But we’ve both been very close.

In first few years following the Games, there were nights where everything seemed so wrong. Some nights, she’d mourn Prim and I’d mourn my family. Others we’d wake up screaming each other’s names because the nightmares become too real. And on the very worst nights, we’d both wish we’d just died and made it easier for everyone else. The only thing we could do was hold each other close and try and fall back asleep, but I’d be lying if I said either of us was ever successful.

Even though she’d never admit it, Katniss was probably in more pain than I was. She was so afraid of things that didn’t exist anymore. Like Snow, The Capitol, Coin, and the Hunger Games. That’s why it took so long to convince her to start a family. She said that she couldn’t bring children into such a dangerous world, even though there is no danger left. The only reason she gave in was that I wanted children so badly. I tried not to show it; I couldn’t manipulate her like that, but after all we’ve been through she can read me like an open book. She knew I yearned to fill the empty rooms in our house with laughter and children’s toys and bedtime stories. So one morning we woke up and she told me she would have kids. It was one of the happiest days of my life; my dream of having a somewhat normal life was finally coming true.

If I’d known how hard it would be for her though, I wouldn’t have put her through it.

In those 9 months leading up to the birth of our daughter Katniss was so on edge. She was terrified, a feeling she knew so well. The idea of raising a child in the same world that had been so merciless to her was too much to handle. It killed me seeing her so afraid. There were some days when I thought I was really going to lose her. There were some days where I almost did. But the day that our daughter was born, I saw all the pain and worry leave her eyes. Our baby gave Katniss hope that she could be happy again, just like the burnt bread and the dandelion in the spring.

Having our son was somewhat easier. Not by much, but easier all the same. I knew it was all worth it when I saw that same hope in her eyes the day he was born. I knew that our children would show Katniss all the good things that are left in this world and they would teach her to appreciate them instead of dwelling on the past. They’d bring back the old Katniss I used to know. And over time, they did.

Our children have healed me too. There are some days where I can almost forget the past, where all I can see is a future with my family, like teaching my daughter how to bake bread or watching Katniss help our son shoot his first arrow. I’m not stuck in that dark place I was before, and as long as I’ve got my family, I won’t be going back.

Katniss and I will never have a perfect life. We both have our bad days. I still have to remind her that everything will be ok and that we have each other, and she still has to tell me if something’s real or not real. It’s these games that keep us going, even though they’re a reminder of The Hunger Games and all that happened because of it. Sometimes they even become unbearable because of the memories that come with them.

But there are far worse games to play.