I’ve buried two wives and outlived nearly everyone I called a friend. You’d think by now nothing could shock me.
But grief has a funny way of sticking around, changing shape. I thought I’d learned to live with it. Turns out I was just waiting for the truth to find me.
I thought I’d learned to live with it.
That truth started on a night when the snow came down as if it had a grudge.
It was a few days before Christmas, 20 years ago.
My son Michael, his wife Rachel, and their two kids had come over for an early holiday dinner at my place. I lived in a small town where everyone waved, whether they liked you or not, and snowstorms were as normal as morning coffee.
The weatherman had said it would be light flurries, maybe an inch or two.
He was dead wrong.
