Widow still didn’t seem like a word that should describe me.
I couldn’t yet face the truth that my husband, John, was gone.
I had no intention of visiting his grave so soon after his death, but as I passed the cemetery I flipped on my turn signal. I couldn’t stay away, and yet I was so miserable. So full of questions no one could answer.
I got out of my warm car and crossed the icy ground to John’s grave. The sky was bright and clear, but couldn’t lift my spirits. I miss you, John, I thought. Are you all right? If only I knew for sure.
I wrapped my coat tight around me. All of the confusion I felt seemed to well up inside me. I lifted my eyes to the blue heavens, as if hoping for a glimpse of John.
I had to catch my breath. Out of a perfectly clear sky, a puffy, wet snowflake fell in slow motion. It danced and spiraled down toward me. Like a present. I watched, transfixed by its grace.
Be well, John.
After weeks of uncertainty, all my answers crystallized in a single, perfect snowflake from heaven.
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