It’s been quite the gloomy January. Hardly any sunshine. Rain, wind, warmish temperatures. Damp. In-between weather. Not really winter, not yet spring. And it’s only mid-January.

Nothing like the January’s of my childhood. Oh, boy, here she goes again, you might think. But seriously, I miss those cold days. Snow days. Ice-on-the-pond days. Bundling up from head-to-toe-so-you-could-spend-hours-outside days. Shoveling out our neighbors, building snowmen, creating snow forts, engaging in snowball fights, flying down the hills on a saucer or a sled. Lying down in the snow to make snow angels. The scent of the cold air stinging your nostrils. The sensation of cheeks blushing to a deep red the longer you stayed outside. Ahhh…made you feel you were alive.

This weekend, we finally got some snow. Nothing to write home about, but still. I could spend hours watching the snow sift through the air, twirling in the wind. Big fat flakes like eiderdown, falling all around the birds at the feeder. Birds on the ground scratching to get to the seed I left there for them before it got covered by a coating of the white stuff. Slate-gray Juncos, chick-a-dees, dashing red cardinals, goldfinches with their drab winter feathers protecting them from hungry predators.

And so, I watched. The wind grabbing the flakes, keeping them swirling in a mad dance, before calming down for a moment to catch its breath, only to begin the dance again. As the snow covered the white pines, it became a winter wonderland for a brief time.

It snowed pretty much all day, but never seemed to accumulate more than a sugar coating on the grass and the trees. I’m a little disappointed. As I’ve gotten older, my heart still longs for a real snowstorm. I love to walk out in the snow. The pristine, quietude pulls me into a space of peace and beauty. I still find the stark contrast of the snow against the green pine needles and dark brown bark on the trees to be magical.

And, yet, as I’ve gotten older, I no long wish it to snow from November to March. One or two good snowstorms satisfies the longing of the little girl in me. I need the reminder of the winter to prepare me for the spring. For, just as you need the darkness to appreciate the light, coming out of the winter into the spring can be best appreciated if there is a winter to leave behind.

The holidays are finally over. My heart is heavy with the weight of bittersweet memories, changes in traditions, grief and loss. For some reason, the loss of my parents and the traditions I grew up with surrounding the holidays, hit me hard this year.

Usually, my siblings and I and our families get together to celebrate Christmas. We used to gather at the folks’ house, but since their passing, and the subsequent sale of our homestead, the tradition has been to gather at one of my brothers’ houses. There, we would eat and talk and laugh and share memories of Christmases past, knowing the fact that we were together as a family would help ease the loss of our parents. Knowing that sharing our childhood memories and traditions helped us get through the day.

Those of us who live farther away, took joy in the journey home, our hearts filled with the anticipation of spending time together. Walking through the front door of my brother’s house brought a sigh of relief and a feeling of happiness that we were still able to carry on the tradition of family. There were homemade cookies and pastries and food to share. We would toast a bit of Jameson in honor of our parents and, with a tear in our eyes and love in our hearts, all of us felt their presence right there with us.

This year was a little different. My brother and his wife became grandparents and wanted to spend Christmas with their daughter and her husband and their beautiful grandbaby. We all understood, happy for them in the thrill of a baby girl to add to the family.

Yet, as happy as we were for them, it meant another change that I was not really prepared for. What would we do on Christmas? My daughter is in Charlotte and my son goes to his in-laws for the day. This meant my husband and I would be alone. Oh, I know some people would love to have a quiet Christmas, but for me Christmas is a big, boisterous gathering, with stories to tell and jokes and laughter with those who know me best. Seeing my siblings’ faces and giving and getting hugs charges my soul and fills me up with what I need the most to get through in this life. This year, I marked the hours, just waiting for the day to be over. I really couldn’t wait for the day to end.

So, instead we had a post-holiday gathering at my brother’s house. I walked through the door with the same relief and happiness as if it was Christmas. We laughed and ate the cookies and goodies all of us brought. There were stories, old and new. We shared a Jameson toast to Mom and Dad. The baby was there, happy and content, which was wonderful, too.

I’m not really sure why I felt such loss this year, but I sure am glad the holiday season is over. Hopefully next year we can find a way to have a party during the Christmas season, with all of us together. I’m not ready to give this up. As long as we are all alive and well.