For Thor - 9 - Cocoon

Today we are expecting to get our first real snow of the year, Thor. And it's gonna be a whopper! Eighteen to twenty-four inches of the white powdery stuff in central Virginia is most definitely a logistical challenge for our infrastructure. We are prepared with everything we need from firewood and gas for the generator to good food, and most importantly, wine and chocolate. I am sure you can appreciate my sense of priority here.

I am looking forward to being snowed in with your dad and brothers. We need some time to reconnect and begin to figure out how we are going to reform around this hole in the fabric of our family. We've relied on the open love and generosity of family and friends to help us catch our breath and get past the initial shock and horror of your passing. We will rely on them more in the coming weeks. I am still wobbly and shaky, like a new foal. But for today and maybe tomorrow, too, a huge white blanket of snow will settle over us. We are gathered to the hearth of our home and will be together. It feels sacred and necessary to have this time, just we four.

We'll cook up a pot of green chili and watch some movies unless the power goes out (fingers crossed it won't, but you know how it is around here). And if the power goes out we'll break out the board games and oil lamps, like we always have. Dad will press Chaz into helping with the generator since you aren't here. We'll take naps by the woodstove as the quietude of the winter snow gently cocoons us into a deeper peace. There is space for contemplation and renewing rest in the womb of winter.

It will be poignant and unspeakably sad for us. These are intimate family moments that have always included you. We will miss the larger-than-life presence that you carried into every room you entered. And the sweet and funny way you engaged with your brothers in their favorite games that were foreign to you; think Settlers of Catan. The first time you played that with them was hilarious. Your brothers will miss sledding with you. They'll miss riding in your truck with the snow flying high off your tires as you churn down the road - mostly sideways but moving forward nonetheless - a lot of "WhooHooing" along the way. I am pretty sure they are going to be very put out that all the firewood hauling and snow removal has fallen to them. I bet you are laughing about that one, just a little bit. You rascal!

We hold onto each other through this rocky terrain, this rough sea. Together, we weave a patch to knit this hole in our lives. The warp and weft are woven with strands of love, salty tears of sadness and sweet ones of joyful memories. It is our way of keeping you alive in our hearts, but also how we will learn to move on as we take our first steps into a new day. It's how we will come through not just intact, but stronger as a family.

Lord, do I miss you, sweetheart. It's hard to stay with this vision of a future where we are whole and happy again in the wake of your death. Sorrow still rules my heart, but I am trying to raise my eyes to the horizon where hope will dawn. One thing about the dawn, it always comes. 

I love you! 

Mom