Thank you for staying. On December 13, 2012 you understood that spring would come no more. Without my baby, there would be no warm breezes, pink blossoms, or yellow flowers pushing up through the thawing ground. You understood that the world would forever remain frost-bitten, snow covered, and wind-torn. Coats and scarves and mittens to armor the body against the knife-edge of the bitter air against our raw, numb skin.
Dear Winter, thank you for not giving in easily. Thank you for refusing to allow the sunshine in, refusing to turn sleet and snow into warm, nourishing rain. Thank you for every new day that is gloomy and chilly, because you know how sunny blue skies would tear my heart apart. You know that they don’t belong anymore, because a world with the possibility of Avalon, my first-born, my little love, is now no longer.
I know that eventually you must give in. You will be forced to release your icy hold, to dissolve into puddles and green grass and hot afternoons. You will leave me to my garden, my gravestone, and the sobering reality that life just goes on, no matter who is left behind. But I will always remember that long into April, you stayed. You stayed for me, you stayed for her. You made me believe that the world did not want to leave her behind, even when it had to, even when it must.