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It snowed today.

I wish I could put into words how snow makes me feel, and why.  I guess all I can really say is that I grew up in a place where it started snowing in October, and usually didn’t stop until April or May.  I remember snow on the ground on St. Patrick’s Day many times (even now the smell of melting snow and wet earth makes me think of shamrocks) and even a blizzard on Easter morning.  I remember snow being over my head, and being able to actually build an igloo just from what my dad shoveled off the driveway.

My dad… mostly snow reminds me of my dad.  He died when I was 20, after a long illness.  When I was a little girl and we still lived in the Desert/Tundra, he was strong and well.  Winter was his favorite season… he loved snow and winter sports- sledding, skiing, riding snowmobiles.

I see the snow fall, fat flakes floating gently downwards, and instantly I am six years old.  My mother has hot cocoa waiting in the kitchen, and my dad is watching us play from the front stoop.  He wears a leather jacket and smells of tobacco and Old Spice.  When he kisses me, I feel the roughness of his moustache against my nose and cheeks.

I stand in the middle of snowflakes, after a brisk walk with my husband, and it is all I can do not to cry.   Falling snow makes me cry.  A sick, empty hurt wells inside my chest, remembered happiness and unbelieveable grief churned together, until finally it becomes too much to hold in and my eyes fill with hot tears.  I want to be six years old, forever six years old, safe and happy and warm, watching snow fall and knowing that soon I will be outside playing in it.

If I have my choice of what Heaven will be like, that is what I would pick.


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