This was the first restful night in a while. A true miracle. Reminiscing about the past few days bring a wry smile to my face. It’s been a chore going through all the boxes, made all the harder for the need to do it. Grandma’s been gone for many years, but the memories are still strong. Now, Mom is gone. The dawning light is bright on the freshly fallen snow. An almost blinding wake up that pulls me back to the present. It’s a beautiful day. One that makes me smile, but with a tear in my eye. and say, “Goodbye mom.”
As I finish the box and toss the empty into the garage, I notice that it has gotten quiet. I look out the window and see that the howling wind has stopped. The snow continues to waft slowly and covers the traces of humanity. I shut off the telly, stoke the fire and retire to the kitchen for another piece of mince-pie and cup of cocoa. Putting everything away, it’s to curl up in front of the fire. One more glance out the window reveals a gentle shimmering sea of white outside holds the hope of a silent night.
Shaking my head, I return to the moment. The memories warming me as they give way to the present. The telly is blaring an a re-run of the “Partridge Family Christmas” and icicles are growing at an angle in the stiff wet wind outside. A peaceful night is not in store for anyone caught outside. Under the snow globe, I find a batch of old blankets and quilts. I pull them out and see my grandmother’s and mother’s initials sewn into one corner. I put them on the couch in front of the fire. I’ll be warm tonight.
I ambled down the walk, leaning into the wind. There were no swans a-swimming on the small frozen pond across the street. The scene must be lovely in the spring. Imagining the children’s surprise Christmas morning brings a warm feeling that helps fight off the chill. Back home, I decide going through the boxes isn’t that bad after all. Dragging in one more box, I open it and find mom’s favorite snow globe. It plays “Twelve Days of Christmas” but the spring is broken and it never gets past the pipers piping. I shake it and watch the snow whirl like memories.