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Archive for January 26th, 2020

It was quiet … too quiet … something was missing.

I love a snow day … alway have, always will. The buzz of colleagues and friends texting, listening to weather reports, watching for emails, scrolling through social media for posts declaring that Mother Nature, local meteorologists, school administrators … God himself has hit the pause button for the day.

This particular day, though sweet, was quiet.

I spent time writing, shovelled snow, bid hubby farewell as he ventured off to work. It was so quiet … I started a jigsaw puzzle, listened to an online sermon, the news, music.

Then I saw it,

and I knew what was missing.

My dad.

He loved snow. When they would have snow days at the school in his community, he would email, message or post weather reports to me (always along with an invitation to move back to the East Coast, from the West). When I would have snow days, he would send celebratory messages as well.

This particular day, I felt the disquieting quiet of his absence from life … another loss that follows death.

So I rose from my seat and sought my recipe book.

Just a week prior I found a cherished poem from my dad to one of my own kids, along with his (famous) biscuit recipe.

He wrote poems, my dad. Little story-telling rhyming verses … just like his mom did. They were so common throughout my life … now I wish I had kept them all, so that I could pour over them, laugh and weep through them.

you never know what gift is precious until the one who gave it is gone

I gathered the ingredients that he always used (including the terribly unhealthy Fluffo shortening that he said was imperative) and set myself to work, following each direction, hearing his advice between each line of the recipe … throwing in a few tears for good measure.

I rolled out the dough, careful not to handle it too much. I cut out each biscuit, the final bit of dough formed into the coveted ‘hot dog’ (that everyone fought for, because it was the biggest). Then, into the preheated oven they went, until the tops were starting to brown, but only just a bit.

I took a picture to share with my family, who would fully understand …

Then I ate one … and whispered,

happy snow day, dad.

Snow days and the changes that follow death … they are part of life, a life that was so good it leaves quiet pauses.

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