It has been a snowy February so far and today was one of the nicer ones. Unlike the icy, slushy, wintery mix that is our norm, we actually had the fine, light snow that my friend loves so much. Guess she didn’t take me seriously when I told her not to bring any snow back with her from her recent trip to Canada. She is always lamenting our lack of snow. Whenever she mentions it, I tell her that it is fine as long as I don’t have to work or shovel! Since neither is usually the case, as a general rule it is no longer as much of a welcomed sight as it once was when I was a child. Today; however, I had off and was able to enjoy the peace and quiet that newly fallen snow brings.
After spending some quality time with my daughter, I decided to head outside and make an early dent in the snow for the dogs. Although much of the ice on the back patio had melted, small patches still remained after my previous attempt to clear the path. I knew they existed but it was impossible to see them as the new snow fell. First I cleared off the steps without difficulty and then moved to the flat section of the patio. I was moving the light snow with ease and cruising along until I hit the first patch of ice. A speed bump in my steady flow if you will. It wasn’t until my next encounter with the ice when I lost my footing that I was again reminded of how the common place can have such deep and profound meaning. Funny thing about what is known but unseen. In the course of our daily lives, we can forget that what is hidden even exists. That we never completely dealt with what needed to be addressed until some event brings it back to the surface, completely catching us off guard.
An example of this in my life occurred on February 6, 2017. I was in the middle act of my professional crisis. In a position that I hated with a new organization and a boss that I had grown to loathe. Not very spiritually evolved of me I know. Honestly it was the beginning of the dark night of my soul that has brought me to where I am now in my life. For that I am profoundly grateful. Anyway, on that Monday morning I was sitting at my desk and staring into my computer screen as I had been doing for countless days before. As usual I was thinking how much I hated myself for getting into this situation. Although I was actively trying to practice daily gratitude, often I found the negative voices on repeat. “How could I have been so stupid! I am such an idiot!” In my heart, I knew I had made a decision from a place of desperation and now felt hopelessly stuck. As I continued to stew and berate myself for not only that but the fact that I wasn’t even doing work for my current job, a bit of clarity began to seep in. It was a quiet sense of knowing that I had forgotten something. Something profound and more important than my current situation. Instinctively, I looked at the calendar and froze. Tears welled in my eyes as I realized that it was the anniversary of my brother-in-law’s death. I couldn’t breathe. I ran to the stairwell and started crying. Truly I had become consumed by my own woes and was completely blindsided. How could I have forgotten?
Mike was the brother that I never had and his loss many years before had rocked me to my core. His death had been the personal devastation that I was now experiencing on the professional level. A complete shattering of self and the feeling of being unmoored. It had almost been the undoing of my marriage and family but love always finds a way. Although we had come out of that time intact, we were forever changed. It was definitely one of those definitive times in life, like 9/11, where you remember exactly where you were because in that moment, time stopped. A sentinel event with a clear line of demarcation between what came before and what came after.
Ten years later, February is still a tough time for our family. We have had many good times since Mike’s passing but every once and a while, we hit a hidden patch of ice. Temporarily losing our balance as we remember what has been lost. Finding that the wound may be healed but the scars lie deep within and are never truly gone. In the stillness of the snow, I looked at the section of exposed patio that I had created. In that moment, I thought of Mike. How the layer of snow that was removed represented my insulation against his loss being stripped away and I felt the pain anew. It doesn’t last as long anymore for which I am thankful but I know that there must be more work to be done. Not to forget him but to find a sense of peace and understanding that lasts. Perhaps that isn’t realistic I think to myself as I see the patio covered again with snow. Maybe I just need to be aware when I have hit an icy patch and allow myself the space to feel the emotions. Accepting that I am human is enough.