The snow started falling last night. It was beautiful but my 21 year old daughter still had to drive home from work at 11pm. No, we don’t live in the hard-hit northeast facing much more snow and cold so I’m not going to complain. However, with watchful eye on the window and cell phone at hand ready for a text or call, I went through my evening feeling anxious about her drive. She isn’t a very experienced snow driver yet and I am a worrier; I fear the worst, having learned about loss and children through the heartbreaking experiences of a few of my friends over the years. Grief is a horrible, painful process. Each family dealt with it in their own unique way but I think they’d all agree that a part of them is broken.
I know when I was younger, I laughed at my parents’ concern. I don’t know if I thought I was invincible but I brushed off their concern. Payback is hell, as they say, and my kids laugh but humor me about my concerns. But I still worry about their safety in unusual driving situations.
So I looked out the window, enjoying the beauty but wincing for my daughter’s drive. My husband and I were both a bit relieved when the snow plow went down our residential street. Certainly the main roads were fairly clear if they could attack the back roads, right? It turns out that it was right, because my daughter bounced in at about the usual time. The main roads were clear and she was home.
I’ve just written a blog post about a small snow event and my daughter getting home. I apologize but it got to me to today’s point. I am so grateful for my four no longer really “children” children and for their health and continued safety. There are those who would give anything to be able to write those words and my heart goes out to them.