Winds of Sorrow

A light wind blew, bringing an unwelcome coolness to her cheeks. Anna moved her head, searching for the sun. She wanted to bring its warmth back to her face. The wind stopped her. The early spring sunshine was too weak to combat the cold. She shifted again, unwilling to admit defeat. 

This was her silent rebellion—a battle against the wind. She hated it when its gusts blew over the farm, kicking up dust and irritating her eyes. The wind was just part of her life now. It had been her constant companion for the last year.

The breeze was harder now, strong enough to set the hammock in motion. It put a chill in her bones that had not been there a moment before. Grief was a lot like the wind. Catching you unaware, it would snatch your breath away. The force was like a bitter squall that assaulted you, driving needles into your skin and pricking at your eyes till they watered. With each new gust came the threat of being knocked off your feet.

She sighed, not wanting to leave her sanctuary. The growing numbness in her fingertips soon drove her inside. It was too cold to be out in the hammock. A fact that Gertrude reminded her of the moment she set foot in the door.

“You need to wear a coat. It's too windy,” Gerty said.

Anna felt the temptation to roll her eyes. Her sister was barely two years older than her but had been annoyingly motherly since Momma died.

“It’s not too windy,” Anna lied. "And I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself, thank you."

Anna hadn't meant to sound so bratty. Her defiance carried over from the wind. She braced herself for a reprimand, but none came. She glanced at her sister. A flicker of emotion crossed the older girl's face. Gerty quickly turned to scrub an imaginary spot on the table.

"You’re right, sorry,” Gertrude said. Her voice held none of its usual bite. “You’d better get ready. It’s almost time to go.”

Anna’s feet were heavy as she made her way down the hall. The soft thud of her footsteps felt unusually loud on the wooden stairs. A pang of guilt gripped her as she pushed open the door to her bedroom. Why had she said that to Gerty? Today was no day to pick a fight.

Anna hastily brushed her hair, twisting the dark strands into a quick braid. She threw on her favorite dress. It was made of a warm wool blend, dyed a dark green that Momma had said matched her eyes. Anna looked at her reflection. She had grown in the last year. The sleeves of her dress barely touched the knuckles of her wrists. Her cheeks, still splattered with freckles, had lost their baby fat. Her eyes seemed more serious now. She couldn't remember when it was that they had changed.

Anna pulled on her boots before heading to the stairs. Papa waited for her at the bottom. The sound of her steps made him look up. His dark beard covered most of his face. He greeted her with a smile.

“You look beautiful, Buttercup," Papa said. His voice was pleasant. Years of working on the farm had made it deep and raspy. "Ready to head out?"

She nodded quickly. Today they were going to visit Momma’s grave. Gerty came bustling in from the kitchen. Papa took the picnic basket from her arms, leading the way to the truck. He paused at the coat rack to plop a felt hat on his head. The well-worn fedora was his favorite. Momma had always teased him, saying he looked like Indiana Jones.

They piled into the old F-150. Anna held the picnic basket in her lap, careful not to let it tip. She didn’t want to disturb any of its contents. Gertrude had made all of Momma’s favorites: pot roast sandwiches, mashed potatoes with white gravy, pickles, deviled eggs, and apple pie.

It had been one whole year since the car crash. Her mother was late coming home from work when Papa got the call. Life really can change in an instant. Her sense of normalcy was torn away by the wind. They had all spent the last twelve months coping with life as it went on.

Gerty’s solution was busyness. Since the accident, she had been in a state of constant motion - like a magician performing a sleight of hand. Every menial task was to be taken care of with the utmost urgency. There was always something to do; having taken it upon herself to see everyone fed, dressed, and the house kept clean. She would not allow herself a moment of idleness. She was like a leaf caught in a breeze. Spiraling in a whirlwind of activity, only to be crushed the moment it touched the ground.

Papa’s grief was silent. It slipped by unnoticed unless you were looking for it. Papa was a strong man who worked tirelessly for his family. His muscles were hardened from his labor. He reminded Anna of a tree. His skin was rough and brown, and his roots were deep and solid. His arms, like branches, provided her with shelter and protection. Yet even the strongest trees are swayed by the wind.

The truck hit a large bump, jostling her from her thoughts. They were almost there. Papa steered the red pickup off the road and into the gravel parking lot. The cemetery was a small one, with a scatter of white headstones poking out of the sea of green wheat.

In typical midwestern fashion, the day had blossomed into beauty. The chill of the morning had been replaced by sunshine and a blue sky. Anna watched as a scissor-tailed swallow dive-bombed along their path. Papa guided them towards a beautiful elm tree and Momma’s grave, resting on the other side.

Anna helped Papa set up. Stretching out a patchwork quilt beneath the tree. The quilt was another of Momma's favorites. It had taken her over a year to finish its colorful design. Gerty got to work unpacking their lunch while Anna arranged the plates. Solemnly they bowed their heads so Papa could say grace. They ate their lunch in silence. Anna felt the tears welling up with each bite until she could bear them no longer. A jagged cry escaped her lips, only to be carried off in the wind.

Papa and Gerty were there in an instant. A tempest of loss and pain swirled inside her. It made her face hot and her head hurt. They held each other for a long time. Slowly the gale subsided. The wheat made a lovely murmuring sound as it ruffled in the breeze.

“Have I ever told you girls about the first time I saw your Momma?” Anna closed her eyes as Papa recounted the tale. They spent the rest of the afternoon sharing apple pie, memories, and laughter. The sun had almost set by the time Papa said it was time to go.

The wind had picked up again, but this time Anna welcomed it. Its breath was warm and comforting against her skin. The breeze wrapped around her, weaving its way between Papa and Gertrude, connecting them with an invisible thread. She felt a tear slide slowly down her cheek. Yes, grief was just like the wind.