Gently, light and fluffy, the snow is falling. It hasn’t been much, just an inch or two. Mack loved snow, loved to play in it, sled, dig into it building forts. He would have been out already, even as I write at 7 am. But he wouldn’t have liked this snow. He would have complained that it was too fluffy, not good for packing and building. Easy to shovel though.
I have to be careful not to dwell too much, too long, or the melancholy becomes overwhelming. It occurs to me that it is not dissimilar to the description of people caught out in the snow after an avalanche or blizzard. You get to a state where it seems OK to be numb, it almost feels warm and normal, safe, and so you snuggle down into the snow, close your eyes and die. We have to keep moving, avoid the emotional hypothermia. We need to remember, celebrate, cry, continue to move and know that it is not “normal,” but it is not final or fatal for us, thank God.