Wednesday, December 5, 2007

Dearest God,

The first snow of the season blanketed the lawn, shrubs and trees. I knew it was coming, felt excited to welcome it. At 4:00 a.m. I looked out, smiled, crawled back into bed for another 30 minutes.

I have always loved snow. Thought of it as beauty come from God. Each snowflake taking hold of another, binding together to give a winterland scene. Oh, the stories I could tell. Running outside as a child to catch the first flake on my tongue. Holding out my hands to catch them in my hands. Making snow persons and forts. Sliding down the side of a hill. Making angels. I'm mesmerized by the snow that falls from heaven.

Normally, I would call my mother first thing this morning. We'd describe in great detail what we were watching. We would be so excited together. Perhaps she already knows in heaven. My mother died on a very cold, very snowy day.

I remember being at the hospital, having pushed our beds next to each other so I could hold her hand all night. So if she stirred I would know it. I remember the room turning cold suddenly. I pulled Mom's blanket up closer to her face. Did the same with mine. But when the nurse entered the dark room and I asked her to check the thermostat, she told me it was fine. That was when I knew you had come to take Mom home. I flew out of that bed, turned on the light and watched Mom draw her last two breaths. All on a cold, snowy, dark morning.

I don't have a lot of special memories of my mother. But on this cold, snowy day I'm going to carry my mom with me, remembering.

The falling snow
returned Mother to me.
In gentle, quiet ways
I will give thanks
for her.
And carry her
all day long.

In thanksgiving, Andrea