The first snow storm I remember happened when I was about four years old. We were living in New York City, in a brick red house on the side of a cliff. I don't remember the snow falling, just the way it piled up on the deck and the snow woman that my father made for me. Oh how I miss him.
It has been almost eight months since he passed away. I still feel as though I'm in shock. Life feels normal for a moment, and then there comes a sudden realization that he is gone. The pain is sharp, and I force myself to think of other things. My mother still cries often. I can hear her whimpering through the walls. She's getting better, but she wants nothing more than to be with him. Who could blame her? They were married for 52 years. I wonder how she'll do on Valentine's Day.
It has been snowing now for days. The first storm brought with it over two feet of snow. The second brought another foot. I'm not used to spending so much time indoors. I wish I could say that I've been productive, but I have not accomplished as much as I had hoped. Still, there is progress. There's so much time to think, which is good in that my plans for the future are becoming more clear. I hope that I will live long enough to accomplish my goals.
At times, my inner child forces me to go outside, unable to resist the temptation to play. Only as an adult, play is not the same. I bring my camera and take snapshots of the neighborhood, the trees blanketed in white. It is magical.
When the snow melts, it will be back to reality. I must go back to the task of building my life from this relatively new location. New Jersey still has a certain feeling about it, just as it did when we lived here when I was about ten years old. There's something comfortable about it, but not the same sense of comfort that I get from New York City. New York is like my best friend, while New Jersey is more like family. I hope that I find my way from here, that I can continue on my path uninterrupted and ultimately fulfill my destiny. There is still a long way to go...