I was sitting by the window staring out over the expanse of white. The snow continued to fall, covering everything in cold hues. Fear rose up into my throat at the thought of being stuck in the house. Spring couldn’t come fast enough.
Though the groundhog said it was six weeks away, I’m still hoping for the best. I wanted to swim again, and listen to the birds chirping outside my window. I wanted to walk outside barefoot as the grass tickled my toes.
I can’t. The fear in me keeps me safe. The danger I feel is real and I cannot get rid of it.
I know as the snow melts away, the tombstones will emerge silently up like fingers clawing for freedom. It will always be a grim reminder of that horrible day. I want to remember the beauty of spring, but it is forever spoiled to me.
It was that day in April, many years ago now, that the horrible fire brought down the house. My husband and my two boys went up in flames, and so did my life. That’s why I dread the melting snow, and the announcement of spring.
Sunny warm days are nightmares to me now. I would rather be cold all the rest of my days than have to live one more sunny spring day without the loving arms of my husband, and the thumping of my children’s feet down the hallway in the mornings, coming to wake me up with giggles and kisses.