by Stacey Torres

Created on: December 16, 2010   Last Updated: December 17, 2010

I sat slumped deep into my chair with my feet curled beneath me, and a warm woolen lap robe snug around my knees and pulled up to my neck. The sun slowly fades beyond the silver snow that continues to fall before the red, orange and amber glow of the western sky that signals dusk. It's been snowing for hours, and I've been in this chair all day staring at the heavy flakes as they cling to the window and the willow just beyond. Ice and snow pulls heavily on her fronds, and she weeps mournfully as she watches me through the window in my warm, cozy chair. But I am cold in my heart, and what my body feels does not matter.

This morning we buried you in the crisp golden sunlight. Strangers known as friends and family gathered around me, swaying and moaning, coaxing and expecting me to join in with them. But, no - I stood solid, grounded at the side of your grave, watching blankly as they lowered your casket in the ground. My heart was beating so hard beneath my black cashmere coat, I could hear it. Yours was silent as you sank lower; four feet, good-bye, my love; five feet, I will never forget you; then six feet; I love you.

And they dragged me to the church to eat runny chicken pot pie and hard biscuits and raggedy old cookies, while the strangers known as friends and family hugged and kissed me, begging me to be strong. Me, be strong? True friends and family would not have to tell me to be strong if they truly knew me.

It is Christmas Eve; a day that you and I held very dear. After all, we had met at the holidays, and ultimately married the following year on Christmas Eve. We ran from the court house hand in hand, laughing like school children who shared a secret. Over hot mugs of tea and plates of cheesecake, you and I lavished in our private reception, and later made love with the urgency of winter rabbits in my tiny bed. In the morning, Christmas Day, you would be leaving to go back north where your work was; not returning to me until the thaw of spring.

Somehow, I pulled myself from the crowd, and began my slow walk back home, dismissing the car from the funeral home. No. I needed to be alone; needed my one last moment with your soul. And, so once at home, I made my way back up to our bedroom; the one we had shared for 12 years; the last 9 of which you struggled not to die, and I being the strong woman you said I was, nursed you, loved you, lay by you and stood by you until your end came to take you from me.

The snow has built

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