The last few days we have been hit with a multitude of snow. It quickly piled up covering the ground, then the tires on the car and now leveling with the windows. It’s beautiful and breathtaking as it lays gently on the trees untouched.

Isabella got her 2 month shots yesterday and after getting home she let it be known she wasn’t happy. After I put her in her blanket, I walked to the back of the house. A big window overlooks the backyard. I rocked her as I stared out into our frozen wonderland.

My thoughts turned to memories I have of snow. Being young playing in it and never wanting to go inside despite having frozen fingers and toes. Spiraling off the road while driving with my sister Vanessa back in high school (that’s another story). My first winter in upstate New York, the winter we lost Averie.

Snow played several parts during that time. The day she was born, driving to the hospital in the wee hours of the morning, the snow fell hard. Closing my eyes and breathing through every painful contraction, we were forced to drive slowly due to the slick conditions. The roads, hauntingly empty, except for the plows.

Later that day, I sat in my hospital bed, awaiting the moment I would see my daughter for the first time before they attempted to make the trip with her to Syracuse. I stared out the window watching the snow fall. I was worrying about my baby being transported in the brutal winter weather. I remember telling Zach how scared I was and he reassured me she would be ok the drivers knew what they were doing. Little did we know moments later we would receive the worst news of our lives. For the next few days, I sat there in that same bed in a zombie state, heartbroken beyond belief, watching the snow fall.

Snow played another part when we got home. There was so much of it, that with little room in our refrigerator, our family that had showed up for us started using it as a second freezer. I remember walking to the sliding glass door, grabbing the cranberry juice, then putting it back in the frozen mound beside other beverages.

When the pain from my milk came in, snow was there. Someone got the idea to pack snow into some bags and use that instead of ice for the discomfort of drying up my milk. It worked well and we had plenty of it.

At some point the show melted and another season started. A season that Averie wasn’t a part of. As much as sometimes I despise the winter snow and cold, it’s where the memory of my little girl resides. She lives in the freezing temperatures, the fallen snow, the crisp air.

This was her season, the season she took a breath, the season she lived. 

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