The first New Year's Eve...

I want to tell you a story…

The first New Year’s Eve after Ian died, I was living alone. For everyone else, it was a night for celebration, so there wasn’t really anyone around, either. Crystal had offered, of course, to stay with me, but she had recently gotten engaged, and I knew she wanted to be with fiance and his family, so I told her I would be alright. I wasn’t, but I didn’t want anyone else to suffer on my behalf, especially that night. 

Around ten, my friend Tracey called. She’d left the party where she’d been when things got a little out of hand, and asked if I’d keep her company, even though we couldn’t be together. I know that was her way of making me feel like I was helping her, but I was okay with it, just that once, because, as the sun had gone down, and the night had grown darker and colder, I had started to get lost in the pain of it all. So we listened to music and talked about things, as we always did.

By the time midnight was rolling around, I was pacing in the living room, the sorrow so heavy in my chest I could barely breathe. She was patient with me, asked me to tell her some stories about him. I did. I had so many. My voice was breaking, and the tears were falling freely down my face. 

I’m not sure why, but, just before the clock hit twelve, I found myself standing at the front door. I’d opened it, letting the cold air inside. It felt good on my face, though it made the tears sting a little. The moon must have been full, because, even with the cloud cover, I could still see. I’d turned the porch light off because it hurt my eyes, being so close. There was no countdown, not for us, and Tracey was quiet when midnight came. The only reason I knew it had happened was because I could hear fireworks off in the distance.

Then…in the veiled moonlight, I saw a single snowflake. Then another, and another. They fell gently, silently, around me as I stepped out onto the front steps. See, the thing is, it doesn’t snow in Louisiana. In my whole life, even till now, I could count the number of times I’d seen snow there on my fingers, and barely need a second hand. But it was snowing. For me. 

And it did, for about fifteen minutes, as I told Tracey the story of the time my mom, Ian, and I found snow up in the mountains in North Carolina. We got out and played in it. It was nothing, barely a pile or two, but to two kids from Southwestern Louisiana, it was amazing. Standing in the snowfall, because there wasn’t enough for any sort of accumulation, I remembered that afternoon, and he was with me again, just for a few minutes.