For the first time in the five years he's been gone, I feel it lifting.
I miss him a little bit every single day, and sometimes there's a darkness to it, a hurt place that just can't heal. When I think of him it gets twisted up in my heart and my throat, and I can't swallow and I can't breathe and I can't think.
But today, it might snow. Probably it will. And I can remember the time we built the snowman. We built the snowman, because we were both home from work. Some kids from the neighborhood came over and helped us gather snow, and I can remember how red his nose was. I remember how he laughed, and threw snowballs at me. How he tackled me into the snow, and tickled me until I couldn't breathe from laughing so hard. The wind was so cold, his hands were cold, but I was warm.
I hate December, and it's an unfair hatred. December never did anything to me, but it was the month that missing him ate me up from the inside.
It was looking at the presents I had for him, and not knowing what to do with them. I kept them for months afterward, almost like I thought he would be back, and to throw them away or give them away would be me betraying him.
December was a thousand different things, but mostly it was the glaring whiteness of nothing. I'd always thought that nothing would feel empty, but the weight of nothing was heavier than I could bear. The nothing spilled out into days that seemed to last for years. The minutes agonizing, each hour pounding away at my temples, beating me into the ground with the weight of nothing.
Today it might snow. And the thought of snow is what brings me here, to this place that I never thought I'd get. Not healing, because you can't put a band-aid on heartache, but something more. Something like acceptance. Something like peace.
It might snow today. I'm hoping that it does, because I'd like to walk in it, the flakes dancing on the wind. I'd like to just watch the way people slow down when it snows, the way that people are kinder to each other when it snows, as if the weather brings out the courtesies we normally avoid. I'd like to walk in that snow, the only thing to accompany me being whatever is in my pockets and the last three or four footprints behind me.
I'd like to tell him that he changed the way I look at every single thing, but he probably already knows. I'd like to tell him how much I miss him, to thank him for showing me what love could be. I'd like to be able to just bury my face in his shoulder, to feel him hug me one last time.
I'd like that a lot. But I no longer need it.
It might snow. Might. And for now, that's enough.