The Last Time it Snowed
The last time I remember snow like this, I was 20 years old. It was January. I still lived at home, along with my parents and my brother. It was this perfect day where all our plans had to be cancelled because we were holed up together, unable to work or travel. We layered up for a walk just like this one. The floor was just as white and the scenes as beautiful, and the day ended as perfectly as it had begun. That was our last day with my brother.
For years, I hated the sight of it and I breathed a sigh of relief as each mild Winter passed. At each notion of impending snow, I pushed every bad memory that threatened to delve forward aside. I instinctively hummed the Teletubbies theme tune each and every time, a coping mechanism that helps me to forget it all to this day. Tinky Winky, Dipsy..
And then I had my boys. I started to feel excitement and anticipation each day that was a little colder than usual, at the thought that the flecks would start to fall, that we'd wake to a white everything, that they would see it all and their memories of it could begin; untainted, innocent, beautiful memories. The smiles and joy that I remember it bringing me. Before.
Grief is something that will never leave you. It can find you easily in the dark and some days can even taint the light. My heart used to feel heavy at the hint of a snowflake, but I can finally see that final day for what it was, the perfect way to say goodbye.