Grief Trumps Everything

I am a winter person. Cool temperatures suit me much better than the heat of summer. Snow coming down lifts my mood like very few other things do.

When I was a child, snow on the ground meant that I spent the entire day outside, sledding or just walking through snow-covered fields. One moonlit night, Momma made the neighbor boy go home at eleven-thirty because she was ready to go to bed; we had been sledding since seven that morning.

My darling Greg and I liked to drive around when it was snowing, especially when it was one of those snowfalls without wind, and large fluffy flakes looked like feathers gently floating down. We had many pleasant drives on snowy days, a couple of harrowing drives, and a magical drive one winter night when the snow was sparkling in the headlights and each flake seemed to bounce a few times before settling to the ground.

This week, however, even though the snowfall has been pretty and the pasture is beautiful, with snow clinging to tree trunks and branches, I cannot enjoy my time of year for Greg is not here to share it with. I miss our drives, his appreciation of the beauty God sent, and the pleasure we had enjoying a beautiful day and each other’s presence.

I went to Greg’s grave Friday afternoon, looked out over the snow-covered bottom and talked to Greg for a few minutes, then walked to the branch and followed a deer trail back to the house. While I appreciated the quiet and beauty of the snowy scenery, my heart was heavy with grief and I could not bring myself to stay outside on that wonderful winter afternoon as I used to do.

Looking at the snow blanketing the front yard, I have a sadness in my heart that I doubt will ever lift. Grief is tied to so many things, some to be expected, like holidays; other things, like the show, are unexpected and hit me with more strength than I ever thought possible.

Grief trumps everything.