"Sometimes it Snows in April" - Prince
“Sometimes it snows in April” – Prince
Today is the seventeenth of April, as I write this it is snowing here in Bozeman, Montana. It snowed all night, and I woke up to a delightful four plus inches of pristine white blanketing the world outside. The locals are grumbling. I am smiling. Perspective really is so powerful.
When I moved to Bozeman, lots of y’all asked me if I was worried about winter here, how was I going to deal with all the snow?! Honestly, I wasn’t worried, though the more you asked the more I thought maybe I should be. I don’t do ‘shoulds’, so I quickly let that thought go.
My winter has been filled with this conversation:
Locals: “Are you sick of the snow yet?”
Me: “Not in the slightest! In fact, I find it magical.”
Them: “You’ll get over that soon enough.”
Me: “I hope not.”
Snow has become a welcome new friend. I suppose after 50+ years of hot, humid, sweaty Texas summers I am well primed to enjoy the change. But, and, also, it’s more than that.
Snow has an innocence to it. This morning as I was driving in the snow to my son’s coffee shop contemplating writing this, I saw kids having a snowball fight. When the snow falls, it makes everything white and pure and perfect. There is this lovely unexpected quiet that comes with the snow. It muffles the hustle and bustle. I find it absolutely delightful.
Sometime in my adult life I began looking towards nature as a teacher. Nature with its beautiful cycles, reminding us that nothing is permanent. A thought that is simultaneously comforting and daunting - the impermanence of all things. This beautiful pristine, April snow will soon melt, the world will look dirty and gray, and then spring will return again.
Humans seem to have forgotten somewhere along the way, that we are a part of nature not apart from nature. Our lives literally ebb and flow like the tide, like the moon, like the seasons. Some relationships, once so valuable and cherished, come and go. Love sometimes fades. Children grow up. Parents die. And while it may seem a depressing thought, it brings me comfort deep in my bones.
As someone who runs anxious, I used to think I must be doing something wrong when things ended. I would kick and scream and resist the endings of things with every fiber of my being. In other words, I suffered mightily. Resisting what is will always bring suffering. This is a Universal Truth. Now I understand the rhythm of life, the comings and goings, the beginnings and endings and beginning again is all natural, unavoidable, sometimes painful, sometimes joyful, and absolutely perfect.
But, and, also, how can we not resist that which we don’t want, an unexpected ending, the death of someone too young, or the heartbreaking end of a Love thought to last forever, for example? Rather than resisting what is, we must learn to grieve. And I mean really, really grieve. Grief is one of the many facets of Love. I have and will continue to write about grief for as long as I teach Love. They are inexplicably connected. There is no grief where the was not Love.
But how do we grieve, you may ask me…here is how I grieve. We have to give ourselves to it fully. Maybe only for five minutes at a time if that is all we can bear, but five minutes at a time will eventually soften your resistance. The way we get good at anything is the way we get good at everything – practice practice practice. Most in our culture, have fallen out of the practice of grief.
And here is the magical thing – connecting the snow and grief – when we honor what we once Loved, what we so wish would never ever end, when we honor it with our grief, shedding tears of Love, wailing and gnashing, letting the grief have our body – sounds terrible I know, but and also it is so cathartic and you will feel better having released rather than trying in vain to hold in what is not possible to hold in. The magic happens when we surrender to what is, there is a softening, then we often find a new sweetness, a new beginning. Like the fresh snow that seems to make everything brand new again. Refusing to grieve keeps us stuck on the side of the door where the death occurred. And while that is okay, necessary even, for a while, we honor the dead by living fully.
Today is also my original ride-or-die bestie’s, birthday. What does that have to do with any of this you might be thinking. More than you might expect. The Cars Just what I Needed just started playing in my air pods as if on cue. I met Haley in 1983 in Ms. Fair’s English class. To say we became fast friends and inseparable besties is an understatement. At fifteen and sixteen, during our sophomore year of high school, we accomplished so much, truly. We were a force to be reckoned with. We founded the first chapter of Students Against Drunk Driving in the state of Texas. We lectured at junior high schools about drug and alcohol abuse. We had bumper stickers and letterhead. Like crazy passionate fanatics, at red lights we would throw the car in park, jump out into the traffic, pass out bumper stickers and encourage people to buckle their seatbelts (this was before seatbelt laws). It is impossible now for me to think how we managed to cram so much into one year. The following year I left for boarding school. Haley and I had only that one precious year, before I was gone.
We spent the rest of high school and college in ride-or-die mode. We were in each other’s weddings. And then something happened that changed all of that, nearly in the blink of an eye our friendship ended. What happened seems so small now, but it was enough then. We allowed a difference in political opinions between our husbands to put the kibosh on one of the most meaningful relationships I have ever had. And then life does what life does – kids, job changes, moves, divorces, deaths, etc. We saw each other a handful of times over the years at funerals mostly. Fast forward thirty years to summer of 2024, I was in the midst of feeling fully shattered, dealing with heartbreak and dismantling my life, again. Seemingly out of nowhere, Haley began messaging me. Gosh the last thing I wanted to do was crack the door open and catch her up on my life from this point. Honestly, I was embarrassed and broken. I felt ashamed of where I was in life. I had my nearest and dearest and I didn’t need anyone else to know how not okay I was. I was so wrong.
Haley, being Haley, fiery as all get out, just kept pinging me until I finally cracked the door open just enough to hear her voice. How was it possible for that voice to sound and feel so familiar after so much time had passed? How was it possible for me to feel so unconditionally Loved and accepted in my darkness by her instantaneously? She had zero judgement and was at my side within days. In the darkness that was my 2024, few moments shine as bright as the return of Haley and this sweet friendship into my life. The Benevolent forces of the Universe must have whispered into Haley’s heart encouraging her to reach out to me, knowing how much I needed her in that very moment.
So similar to having lived so long without the sweetness of snow, I lived so many years without the sweetness of this friendship. So much more than a friendship really, Haley and I are without a doubt soulmates. Snow in April is rare enough for Prince to have written a song about it, so too is the return of Haley & Tracey, this fierce friendship with its inexplicable like no-time-has-passed-ness, having had a long dormant cycle, has emerged again with the welcome sweetness of spring after a long winter.
Today I honor and celebrate the new and the old, my new friend snow and the birthday of my OG bestie, Haley. Happy birthday gorgeous. I Love you whole big bunches.
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