Snowflake Memories

Experiencing the death of a loved one is hard, to put it plainly. My first real experience with death was my mom when I was five years old. It is difficult to process feelings of any kind at that age. Let alone something as profound as death. It has taken years to comprehend and accept my feelings and emotions. I am, at long last, finally able to write down those feelings in a way someone looking in from the outside would understand. Perhaps, this will help anyone else dealing with a similar loss; just as writing it has helped me.

Death is loss, in its rawest and most brutally inescapable form. It is knowing that your loved one will never laugh with, and sometimes at, you. They will never be there to put their arms around you and comfort you as only they could. You will never again get a phone call from them asking you about your day.

The best way I can describe losing someone starts with the feeling as though on the edge of a brain freeze. You know what is coming: the pain, the panic. Yet you can do absolutely nothing to prevent it. The feeling silently mutates to right after you stub your toe. You are still slightly numb and aware the pain is there, but if you try hard enough you still cannot feel it. Then, perhaps it is the first time you turn to them and they are not there. Or you dial halfway through their number before you remember: they will no longer answer. Waves of pain wash over you again and again. Likened to stepping on a Lego, while half asleep, with the soft part of your foot. You claw at the pain, desperate to bring comfort to the wound. However, to your dismay, you are unable to pinpoint the source. This horrible combination of feelings can fight their way to the surface with even the smallest of triggers. Repeating themselves for days, months, or even years to come. I still deal with moments like these. It is a part of me and always will be.

Then, so subtly you do not even realize when, those feelings evolve into something new. Like when you walk outside during the first snow of the season. Everything is quiet and, dare I say, peaceful. You turn your face towards the sky and feel those small, unique snowflakes gently kiss your cheeks and the tip of your nose. It is cold and ever so slightly painful but you do not mind. So too, the bittersweet memories gradually float back to you. Leaving a sad but comforted smile on your face.

I would be lying if I told you that reaching the tranquil, snowflake feeling is the end of the journey. It is not. There will be the occasional Lego found trying to dig its way under your skin. Do not despair. Hold onto those snowflake memories. They will help cool the pain; enabling you to walk on with your life.

I realized that the descriptions I have used are menial and almost pathetic in comparison to how enormous the feelings truly are.

However, if this helps one person understand what they, or a loved one, are feeling then I will not have written this in vain. Cling to hope. Pain does not last forever and one day, before you even realize, you will find that those snowflake memories ease pain and can even bring back joy