A Lesson from Snowfall
It was the twelfth anniversary of my Dad’s celebration of life this weekend against the backdrop of so many seemingly conflicting truths. Of grief and devastation. Of gratitude and “new start” energy.
I felt in limbo between pride, sadness, and longing. Pride for how far my family and I had come in our healing and celebration of Dad’s legacy. Longing for his laughter, wisdom I often took for granted, and big hugs.
On Saturday morning, I woke to the gentle hush of a dusting of snow, a delicate visitor in this season. The world outside my window felt momentarily paused, blanketed in white—a quiet invitation to stillness. For a few hours, the bustle of NYC transformed into a canvas of wonder and quiet disruption.
There is a power in snow, not just in its ability to change a landscape, but in the emotions it stirs. Snow carries both mystery and playfulness, a reminder that life can be both light and heavy all at once. It invites us to play, to step outside with childlike wonder, while also drawing us inward, reflective and hushed.
In this duality, snow becomes a teacher. It holds space for both joy and grief, for gratitude and sorrow. The delicate flakes, each unique and fleeting, remind us of the beauty in impermanence. Snow can soften the sharp edges of our pain, while also allowing us to sit with it, not in avoidance but in presence.
As I watched the snow drift with Dad’s Donny Hathaway record on, I felt the fullness of what it means to hold both. Gratitude for the simple magic of this fleeting snowfall and grief for the sorrows that linger in our hearts. The snow did not ask me to choose between them, but held both truths in its quiet descent.
“This,” I thought to myself, “is perhaps the greatest lesson of snowfall — the power of nature's mystery to offer healing.” To let playfulness and quiet co-exist. To be held, even briefly, in the arms of both gratitude and sorrow, possibility and loss. And perhaps, as the snow melts, we will remember how to hold those truths long after the last flake has disappeared.
