6 comments

Sad Holiday Inspirational

This story contains sensitive content

Trigger warning: themes of loss/miscarriage.


"In the chill of winter, remember: beneath the snow, hope lies dormant, ready to bloom with the warmth of spring — life's trials are but temporary freezes, leading to the beauty of new beginnings."


The cold bites into Amelia as she steps out of the doctor's office. The bitter wind claws at her exposed skin, an icy predator seeking to numb the raw ache within her. She pulls at her coat tighter, but the cold sneaks in through the gaps, settling deep in her bones. 


"Come on, hold it together," she whispers to herself, a plea against the impending flood of tears.


Despite her efforts, the salty taste mingles with the crisp air, as her breath forms short-lived clouds in the frigid atmosphere — each exhale a visible manifestation of every breath she will take that her little one will not.


It takes everything in her to not fall into sobs right here in the snow and let the freezing cold claim her. The world seems to muffle, sound dampened by the weight of her grief. The distant hum of traffic, the distant laughter of children playing — it's all there, yet it feels like a world away.


She forces herself to continue walking, preferring the long journey over a quick ride home. The weight of grief presses on her chest, but she summons a fragile smile to share with those who pass her. 


"Morning," she nods to a passerby, her voice a mere whisper against the cold wind. Meanwhile, the doctor's words play on repeat in her head, confirming what she feared.


Another loss.


It feels like a deep freeze in a part of her heart, harsh and unforgiving. As she rounds her first sharp corner, the city sounds are hushed by the snow-covered streets beneath her boots and the relentless wind singing in her ears.


The snowflakes fall fast, but gently, around her, turning the world into a winter wonderland. It's beautiful, but the contrast with her sadness is almost too much to bear. Each delicate flake lands on her face, a cold, fleeting kiss that she barely feels amidst the numbness within.


Even the sound of her boots crunching on the snow seems to echo the weight of her steps, a heavy cadence marking the journey home. Each footprint etches a path of sorrow, the frozen landscape mirroring the chill of the news they once hoped to share with family at Christmas. 


With a deep inhale, she breathes in the scent of pine, a melancholy fragrance, hanging in the stillness of the winter afternoon. With her exhale comes a quiet release, a gentle surrender to the winter's embrace, before being carried away.


Though the wind whispers stories of unconditional love and family, something she already has had the pleasure of claiming, she feels isolation and longing for a warmth that was once swelling in her belly just days ago. 


"Amelia, you have a family waiting for you," she reminds herself, the distant laughter of children playing in the snow stinging her senses, a reminder of the special moments that have once again slipped through her fingers.


In the midst of the swirling snow and emotions, she catches a glimpse of blurred red. 


It's a fleeting moment. A splash of color that demands her attention. 


Curiosity pulls her closer, and as the wind howls, she discovers a cardinal perched on a snow-covered railing. Its presence, undeterred by the harsh conditions and unusual in the depths of the last weeks of winter, feels like a message. 


She brushes the fresh powder from a nearby bench and sits.


"Hey there, little guy," she murmurs to the cardinal, her words lost in the wind. "What brings you out in this storm?"


As Amelia and the cardinal watch each other in silent communion, they share a connection that brings strange comfort. The cardinal, a messenger of solace, brings a glimmer of warmth to the scars each loss has etched into her being.


With newfound strength, Amelia rises from the cold bench. The cardinal, as if acknowledging her resolve, takes flight, disappearing into the wintry landscape. 


The cold, though still biting, seems to lose its sting.


Finishing her walk home, she leaves behind the pain, her steps in the snow now telling a story of resilience, not defeat — the cardinal's presence lingering in her thoughts like a small ember of hope.


Approaching her snow-blanketed home, she hesitates at the door, the cold nipping at her heels. The guilt of being sad about another lost baby weighs on her. She already has two boys and a husband — a family to love and love her. So, why is it so hard?


Opening the door, warmth envelops her like a hug. The scent of home, a mixture of wood-burning smoke and familiarity, wraps around her. The fire crackles in the fireplace, its rhythmic dance echoing the heartbeat of the house. Her two boys and husband are there, a living warmth that contrasts with the winter storm outside. 


Their faces light up at her arrival, and the youngest runs to her, wrapping small arms around her legs.


"Mommy, you're home!" he exclaims, his voice a sweet melody that calms the tempest still running rampant inside her.


Her husband approaches, his eyes filled with concern. "How was the appointment?" he asks gently, his voice a soothing balm.


She looks into his eyes, finding solace in his understanding gaze. "It wasn't good," she confesses, the weight of the words hanging in the air.


Sitting by the fire, she lets its warmth overcome her. Her two boys join her, cuddling close, their warmth and innocence a temporary reprieve from the harshness of the world.


Her husband sits beside her, his arm around her shoulders. "We're here for you," he says softly, a simple declaration that carries the weight of the world in unwavering support.


The pain remains, but for now, in the quiet of her home, surrounded by the love of her family, she finds peace. The bitter cold, both outside and within, begins to retreat like a defeated foe, yielding to the gentle warmth of spring's tender touch. As the thaw begins, the once-frozen lake awakens from its icy slumber, mirroring the renewal that unfolds within the depths of her soul.


The last harsh winter storm of the season has met its end, leaving behind the spirit of a woman finding strength in the warmth of her beautiful little family.


And a winter preparing for hibernation, patiently awaiting its return.


December 02, 2023 17:12

You must sign up or log in to submit a comment.

6 comments

William Torion
00:32 Dec 10, 2023

I found this really inspiring. I love the theme of resilience in the midst of grief; especially the idea that resilience has an element of choice to it. Thank you for writing.

Reply

Brandi Yetzer
04:22 Dec 10, 2023

Thank you for your kind words!

Reply

Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
J. D. Lair
00:04 Dec 12, 2023

Both my mother and sister have lost babies, and although I do not understand their pain, this story shed some light into what they struggled with. So, thank you for being brave and writing this. You’re writing has an elegance to it that I really appreciate. I’m grateful the MC has a warm and understanding husband, since that is not always the case. I really liked the addition of the cardinal too, adding an element of a small nudge from nature that everything would be OK. Well done!

Reply

Brandi Yetzer
01:49 Dec 12, 2023

Thank you for the kind words, J. D. I'm sorry to hear that about your mom and sister. This story was actually deeply personal and inspired by my own miscarriages, so I know how hard it can be. In fact, the cardinal was included because one has showed up within a day of each loss, every time. I didn't know of it's symbol of a loved one visiting until after telling some loved ones about it -- after that, it felt important to include it my story :)

Reply

J. D. Lair
03:05 Dec 12, 2023

Wow, that's amazing! I'm glad you've been able to write about it. I know it can be therapeutic and hope it's helped. :)

Reply

Brandi Yetzer
14:25 Dec 12, 2023

It really was! :)

Reply

Show 0 replies
Show 1 reply
Show 1 reply
Show 1 reply
RBE | Illustration — We made a writing app for you | 2023-02

We made a writing app for you

Yes, you! Write. Format. Export for ebook and print. 100% free, always.