Turning inward. Preparing for the dark half of the year. The chill reminds me of the Last Days. The days that became the last beautifully terrifying moments I would spend with my beloved.
Winter is coming. (I mean that literally, I’ve never seen Game of Thrones.)
I pull my sweater tighter around me. Not for warmth, but because maybe if I close this shield of cotton and wool around me the grief won’t sting as much.
My kids look sad and worried. They huddle closer to me, bringing their own shields of softness; like blankets. They cuddle close and together we silently sob and we wait.
We’re waiting for winter.
That icy cold day that forever changed our consciousness.
We will never be the same.
I’m hyperaware of the preciousness contained in EVERY moment lived around me.
Is anyone else aware of them?
They don’t seem to be, bustling to-and-fro with their coffee cups and phones. No one carries an expression suggesting that they are fully aware of what could be their last moments.
The weight of this awareness is crushing. Maybe this is why we are meant to be oblivious to the moments that will be our last.
