Life's Winter Sentiments

A beat-up truck slowly creeps along the road, stopping every few moments as the rest of traffic comes to a sliding halt. The cascading snow cloaks everything, making it almost impossible to see ahead, but somehow, all the other cars keep trying to rush forward. The holiday spirit, which seemed to fill every heart just yesterday morning, is now forgotten in the blaring horns of traffic.

Bleary eyes peer intently through the windshield. The old man leans forward, his worn hands gripping the wheel tightly. The trip has been long and tiring, and at times like this, he can’t help wondering if he had been foolhardy. Roads are rarely safe this time of year, and he could never live with himself if something happened to his wife. Honestly, though, she is why he’s here. She needed this. He continues scanning the road, resisting the urge to glance at her. Her smile at seeing their daughter and son…their grandchildren…yesterday made every moment more than worth it.

Yesterday, Christmas had dawned with a layer of fresh snow. Their children, Meryl and David, had showered his wife with little presents, and the grandchildren had all gathered around her feet asking for stories. Later that morning, the children rushed out to go sledding, and David had gently carried his mother all the way to the hill, so she could watch. It had been a while since the man had seen his wife so happy. Her face had glowed with a soft peace. She loved snow and laughter. Too often now, her days had been troubled and dreary. He really wanted her to have at least one day of joy. Now, as he slowly inches forward,

“Harold!”

“Yes, dear?” The man doesn’t dare take his eyes off the road, but his expression softens.

“Can you see the road?”

“As much as one can in a blizzard,” he replies, a hint of sarcasm creeping into his voice.

From the corner of his eye, he can see her face twist up in disbelief, “Then why aren’t we moving?”

“We’re stuck in traffic…there are a lot of folks coming back from the holidays.” He absent-mindedly responds, diligently trying to make out the car ahead of him.

“What holiday? All this traveling is going to get us both killed.”

The man withholds a sigh, instead replying gently, “Remember? We were just visiting Meryl and David…we spent Christmas with them and the grandchildren.”

“Our kids?” The woman shakes her head with a sigh. “It’s been ages since we’ve seen them. Why don’t they come home to visit us anymore?”

“Hon-”

“I’ve told you time and time again that your smoking would keep them away.”

The man’s lips quiver slightly. 

“Yes, dear. I’ve stopped smoking. You were right about it being a bad habit…but don’t you remember what we did yesterday? Look at your mittens. They’re a gift from Meryl. She gave them to you for Christmas.”

Lifting her hands, his wife examines the workmanship carefully. After all these years, the man knows the look on her face. He can envision her furrowed brows and the puzzled shadow in her eye. She gets it every time she tries to clutch onto a distant memory. “They…they are? Did she make them?”

“Of course, she did! She hasn’t forgotten any of your knitting lessons. See how fine they are?”

“Yes. They are very well made.”

“She went a long way to get that yarn too. It’s some special wool that’s supposed to be very soft…”

“And who made these gloves?”

“Meryl, our daughter.”

“Meryl! She made me these?”

“Yes, she’s gotten very good, hasn’t she?”

“It’s been forever since I’ve seen her.”

“Oh, it hasn’t been so long. She gave those to you for Christmas.”

“Mhmm.”

The man can’t see her expression, but he knows that tone in her voice. She isn’t quite convinced. Frustrated, she stares out at the snow, the untouched blanket mirroring her muffled mind.

“Oh, and remember David? He played piano for you too. He probably doesn’t play much anymore, but…he wanted you to hear him.”

“That child never practiced, but I told him that he’d thank me someday for making him learn.” She scoffs good-naturedly. “He played more wrong notes than right ones most of the time, but it always made me so happy to hear him.”

“He played for you yesterday. Some piece you liked from years back.”

“David won’t be still playing now. Don’t be silly.”

“No! He took the time to learn a piece…by Bach, I think.”

“Oh, Bach was always one of my favorites. His music is so refined. I loved it when David’s teacher assigned him one of Bach’s pieces.”

“That’s why David decided to play you one yesterday. I thought he played very well…not that I really know.”

His wife shakes her head sadly, unable to respond. The man senses her unease but decides to continue anyway.

“Remember watching the little ones…” he clears his throat, as his voice fades, “they were so excited to see you. After presents, they went sledding…and David helped you get out so you could watch them.” The old man’s eyes crinkle as he adds, “I threw a snowball at you.”

There is a long pause as his wife lovingly strokes the wool mittens, a smile lingering on her face. The man risks taking his eyes off the road for a peek. They aren’t moving right now anyway.

“Thank you,” his wife murmurs. Reaching out, she places her hand over his. The man says nothing, but he doesn’t need to. Reluctantly, he looks back at the road, driving the car a few more feet forward. His wife leans back. She gazes out the window, her cold blue eyes reflecting the snow. A stark silence hovers in the air, while the sound of snow and cars tries to fill the void. Suddenly, she turns.

“Harold! Can you even see the road?”

“Yes, dear.” The words sound shaky as tears pool in the old man’s eyes. It is so hard to hear his wife like this, but with his usual patience, he calmly prepares for more stagnant conversation.

“You always insist on driving despite these terrible conditions.” Her voice is laced with concern. “If you can call this driving! We aren’t even moving!”