This morning’s snow is heavy, the weight of it breaking and bending strong limbs in a resigned bow to Mother Earth. The flakes are wet with too much moisture as they fall upon a narrow branch, overshadowing its color and texture until it appears a mere fragment of its vibrant self.
I gasp for breath as my mother’s airway constricts again before my eyes, the fragile passage filling with the ravages of suffocation, the cold tubing inserted into her throat now a snow-curved twig. She gags in her coma, and flinches, until I finally have no choice but to beg for the blizzard of medical intervention to forever stop.
Days later, the next snowfall is unfurled upon the fallow soil of our souls. In the church, my siblings and I spread a snowy blanket upon the frigid ground of her closed casket, and I place a crucifix atop the whitened surface. Jesus in His agony seems to sink through snow, as we are all buried with Him, rebaptized with Him into His death.
More snows may come, I know. But they will melt faster now, and I will not hold my breath for nearly as long in the days ahead. Even now, as I gaze out my window on the wonders beyond, snow slides from a languishing limb.
With something like a sigh of relief, it recovers from its near collapse and reaches once more for the grey, leaden sky, with its unspoken promise of Spring.
Posted by Katy on 03/14/11 at 08:06 AMFallible Comments...
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