The Snow

  

Oliver had never seen real snow before. For all his five years, Frosty the Snowman was as close as he had gotten. Christmas Eve had always been a dry event as far as the front lawn could remember. Living just outside of Phoenix almost guaranteed a warm desert and a sunny Christmas morn. The storm front moved in and brought five inches of the white stuff with it. It had not snowed that much in the Phoenix area in over 50 years, if ever. Oliver watched the marvel from his parents’ front window. His folks had to shush him a time or two. His excitement was contagious. As his Mom and Dad prepared themselves, Oliver sat with his mud boots on, ready to go. He barely needed a jacket by the time it had all fallen. It was a wet day and a white day and a day the boy might never forget. He stepped out of the entrance, giggling and bouncing onto the porch. He was as taken aback as any child his age would be. He carefully took to the steps, a blanket on each of them. He walked over to the center of the front lawn, and he dropped into the midst of it. He put his hands full down into snowfall, crushing it into ice in each hand. He reached for more of it, ramming a handful into his mouth. He tingled at the cold and slushy wet. He did what his Dad had shown him. He laid himself down and made his first snow angel. He didn’t really get it until they came and pulled him away. The excitement seemed to end when all the stuff began to melt. Oliver tromped back up the steps, splashing as he went along. As dusk arrived, the wait for Santa began. Oliver had to take his boots off before his Mom would let him come into the house.
 
The room was filled with a certain sadness as she sat alone, staring through the large vacant window. Every hour was the same for her. Just like before, she was lost in the madness and lost to herself. She just sat there, day after day, with a blank glare and a broken heart. They locked her up, so they didn’t have to deal with her, deal with her moods, deal with her anger. She was a violent offender, but her medication seemed to ease her rage. She had not said a word since her arrival. She withdrew from the world when they took her world away. She would spend this Christmas Eve celebrating with a 3’ x 5’double pane of glass. The Banner Behavioral Health Hospital, located just outside Scottsdale, Arizona was supposed to be the very best for treatment but to her it was just another prison, more walls to keep her in. She saw the clouds forming in the distance. They gathered, then proceeded. The sky moved from sharp blue to dense grey, rapidly. She was silently thrilled when she saw the first snowflake fly. It brought others along with it. The snow began to fall, then it just kept falling. She observed as if watching TV or counting sheep. The tempest was intense but lasted no more than 15 minutes. It was brief but heavy. It managed to cover everything in a glimmer of frost and an alabaster sheet of cold. In the midst of it, she could barely make out the streetlights or any car parked across the way. She did not move. She did not clamor. She did not hue and cry. She just sat there watching the snow fall. Come morning, it would all be gone.

 
She was a strong woman, even if she didn’t know it. Life had always brought her chaos, a human condition she resented. For all her 70 years, she had never really been alone. All her past mistakes and all her emptiness found a place when her second husband died. He had been the cream of her crop, the yang to her ying. When her daughter passed a few years before, she thought there was nothing that could match her pain. She was wrong. The loss of her husband tested her. It was a smart idea for her to occasionally care for her grandkids. Underneath it all, she was broken. When her son suggested she watch his youngest daughter for a few days, she welcomed the yuletide distraction. All the noise, all the questions, yet she greeted the pandemonium with open arms. She loved her granddaughter and took the opportunity to create memories with her. The Youngtown public park was just down the street from her home. The standard display of equipment met the usual childhood glee. When the snow started, she noted it never snows in Arizona, especially on Christmas Eve. With a chill among the snow, she put the jacket she had carried around on the girl and stood with her. Piece by piece did not pass her by. As the little girl danced in the stuff, she paused, closed her eyes and wished he could be there with them. By the time her son picked both up, the snow had almost melted. She spent the next few days with family and with friends. After the presents were opened and the mess found, she sat in silence, the back porch would have to do. What a contrast from the night before. She looked up into the sky and wished it would snow again.
 
Almost halfway between Phoenix and Scottsdale, the St. Francis Catholic Cemetery looms near the side of the road. A cast iron fence is really all that stands between the dead and anyone dying to get in. The mortuary faces the N 48^th, on what once used to be the border between the two towns. They buried their first body back in 1897 and there had rarely been snow since then, not that anyone alive could remember. If there was one thing Kyle did not expect this Christmas Eve, it was a dense layer of snow covering  everything. As he entered St. Francis, it started to fall. By the time he crossed the graveyard, it was heavy and wet and sticking. The only time he had seen such a sight was on a trip to New York one Christmastime. Driving was slippery and he slowed his approach for fear he might slide off the newly iced up road and into a monument. For the last twenty years he had made the same trip, never once encountering such weather. He stopped the car dead center of the road, and he parked it there. It wasn’t often he saw people in a cemetery on Christmas Eve, so he felt comfortable avoiding the side of a snowy mess. He took the flowers and the card, and he trudged through the falling snow. The graves were invisible but for a milestone down the way. Each ground marker was filled all in by the fluffy barrage of blizzard and Kyle had trouble locating his focus. He wiped it clear with a boot and a brushing. He stood cold, looming over the thing like it was an unanswered prayer. The chill did not last this yuletide night. Warmth soon returned and with it a melting relief. He left the stone abandoned, following his own footprints past fading ice and the emptiness of each visit. In all the years since their parting, he had never once shared his grief with the snow.  
 
 
One by one, the lights went on. Vivid blue, yuletide green and crimson red bulbs all pulsed about like on any Christmas Eve. The snow stopped falling as dusk began to set and the dull white world of that afternoon now brought a shimmering, a kaleidoscope of color bouncing off retreating ice and snow. Any precipitation now merely lingered, simple mirrors fading fast. The city can be dingy and grey regardless of when. At Christmas time, in a warmer place, there is little fanfare when it comes to the weather. You get what you get, seems to be the rule. Every once in awhile, life tosses something unexpected in with the lot. You have to notice it for it to have meaning. There are common experiences we all share, moments of joy and reflection that come and go without notification. 

 

Sometimes all it takes is a snowstorm.