On Friday, the day of my mom's burial, a blizzard hit the northeast. We went to bed on Friday night, dazed and shell-shocked, but without too much worry about snow. We woke up on Saturday morning, however, to 30 inches of snow and even higher drifts.
Luckily, we still had power, food, and (some) booze. Even better, we had four pairs of hands and one powerful snowblower to clear the cars and the driveway.
|Snow-blowing up a storm|
Unfortunately, the condition of our street, like many others, left a little to be desired.
The snowstorm gave me more time to spend with my father and brother. We drank coffee in sunny windows, mixed cocktails by the fire, and released pent up tension by shoveling snow.
It also gave me more time to spend with myself. I practiced some yoga, cooked comforting meals, and compiled a few blog posts. I also learned that it's too easy to distract myself from grief with a book or the Internet.
|Cabin fever footpaths through the street|
As of Sunday afternoon, the snowplows still hadn't come to our street. Although forced relaxation can be a wonderful thing, Andy (who flew out for the wake and funeral) and I are anxious to get back to our own apartment in Utah. Andy and I have a rare opportunity to buy a good car from a family member, and we were originally planning on driving back to Utah from New Jersey. Our biggest obstacle was getting off of the unplowed street, and our days allotted for driving across country were quickly diminishing.
So, we decided to take matters into our own hands.
My parents' house is just half a block away from a plowed "snow emergency road." Sunday morning, we considered trudging through the snow to the corner, to have a car service pick us up. Instead, Andy's father went above and beyond, and he picked us up from said corner and brought us back to New Jersey so we can begin our road trip.
Today, I am grateful for pleasant snow days, healthy bodies, good food, loving family, and a supportive partner—and his amazing family.