There's a Feeling I Get When I Look to the West

The Buddha said, "Life is suffering,” but he didn't specify.

We'll make it, but I'm hurting badly.

I'm hurting because I miss her so much more in wintertime. The season that preceded it was nostalgic and an omen of things and feelings to come.

It's not easy to be alone; it could be terribly painful. But introspecting through the memories is nevertheless healing.

Of course, the nights are worse as her human warmth is no longer available. She's taken that with her, unwillingly.

I wish I knew if she senses or feels my pain. I wonder if she sees me…

Winters are more challenging than any other season for many reasons, all of which are easily imaginable; the empty holidays-for-one are hard without her. Then, the cold spaces keep on reminding me of her absence. Everything is cold without her.

The empty chair that I couldn't get rid of, her computer, her ever-growing plants. Her quilts, her beautiful designs. They speak her language in the silence of the room.

They are silent witnesses that, although they're simple inanimate objects, they speak of missing her, too. There's no denying it.

Winter brings those strange times.

Winter makes its presence known now that she's gone.

Winter hurts me to the core.

~∆~

Snow happened this morning, saturating everything, and painting it white.

I lit a fire for two and sat with a book in the most relaxed comfort that felt so uncomfortable without her.

The fire is magic and cracks the embers on a cacophony of cracking sounds that somehow soothe my soul.

My beloved dog, Bita, sitting beside me, senses my loneliness and stares, almost as if saying, "I miss her too.”

Yes, they were close. She took her everywhere, even if it was for a short ride two blocks over.

When she left us, Bita no longer slept on her own bed. She preferred to rest on her clothes to stay close to her, understanding the vacancy present.

Eventually, I managed to muster the courage to clumsily remodel her bed, sowing the clothes she'd wear most so her scent would be sufficient for the pup to lie on and sleep.

To my broken heart, friends and family are of little consolation, try as they may.

Winter is bittersad, not bittersweet, but I'm coping, we are coping, as the hole she left in my being is sometimes too big to bear.

I didn't just lose my wife, you see.

I lost my best friend, my rock, my soulmate. And the season doesn't matter. I doubt that spring would fare any better, or if my soul now would heal any faster with the coming of the snow.

I'm blessed with my best friend here, a part of her, really. And I'm blessed with the memories, the spaces, the scents. I'm lucky and blessed for the fire, my books, and my pen. Without them, I'd be already gone or much closer to death. And that's the truth.

The snow hasn't let up much and continues painting strokes wildly in a glorious spectacle of nature. It dances with the leaves and with the sun. It creates striking shadowy designs.

It reminds me winter is here to stay, so I must rebound and let the yellow light from the king outside come in.

Fully breathe the air outdoors as Bita rejoices, jumping on the piles of white, reminding me to also live in the moment, as it should be, winter or not.

Lessons to be learned from a beautiful animal with all the love in the world, teaching me chapters I cannot forget.

“Let it snow and let it go,” she seems to say.

It's hard to believe we are the intelligent ones when, in times like these, they seem to have all the wisdom.

Lest we forget. Life goes on. Grievance doesn't have a timer, but it sure has a ticking clock. Everything must pass.

Everything must pass, including sorrow.

It's hard, but we can, if we choose to, let it again be a winter wonderland.

In contemplating the snow, an unexpected thought arises from nowhere.

“Enjoy this moment and the next. Don't let your love escape.”

That's what she would have wanted, for both of us.

I have no doubt in my heart that is the case.