Shoveling Snow

I'd been thinking that getting some activity might help my mood -- and I got my chance today. My 77 year-old dad, his retired neighbor lady, and the son of their neighbors and I were all out shoveling the shared driveway late this morning. There were only three snow shovels, so we took turns. I shot the photo during one of my breaks.



We were about to go in and take a break when an ambulance pulled up across the street and another neighbor called to see if anyone had snow shovels to come help dig a path to the afflicted person's front door -- so off we went. (Nothing like flashing red lights to get one's adrenaline going!) Fortunately the situation wasn't immediately urgent, but there's a path for the EMT's to get back and forth.

When I came back inside I was shaking from fatigue, but I felt much better overall.

Home Again

Since the main roads are clear and there does not seem to be any more concerns about storms and power outages, I'm back at home.

It's not quite as cozy as my parents' place -- and the cooking isn't as good -- but it's very nice to be home.


Besides, I'm going to need a jacuzzi after that snow shoveling!

It Never Goes Away

It seems like each season brings new aspect of grief for me to explore. The pain will ease, and then it comes back hard, like a icy winter storm tide crashing on a barren beach.

This snow and all its stress has made me keenly aware -- again -- that the space by my side is empty.

I do not for a moment discount my loving parents, my friends, nor even my Ex who called late last week to be sure I was aware of the forecast and make sure I was prepared. I am surrounded by people who care for me and who will not let me fall.

But he should be here with me.

I know he is. I can feel his spirit. I even felt him sharing energy today with me as I shoveled snow, making sure I was able to do my part to support my family and community -- the two things most deeply sacred to him.

But the intensity of my grief is back, back to the point where I once again wish simply to cease to live so I can stop hurting and be with him.

But the same reasons I've had to live for the past year and a half still hold, and when the sun rises tomorrow I will still be here.



Comments disabled.
I know the words you all will offer.
They are no less dear for having been offered so many times before, but I don't want anyone to feel pressured tonight to offer them yet again.
You've been such faithful witnesses and comforters. I do appreciate it.
I'm sorry that you have to keep reading the same thing so many times.
Tonight it is enough to be able to post about the same pain yet again, and know that it will be read by loving eyes.