A Fifth Season is a place of pause to grieve the death of my first and only child. A season characterized by reflection on the big stuff and the little stuff that this mom encounters as I parent the memory of my child, and my child, in loving return, parents my heart.
After leaving the only holiday party she had the courage to attend, and enduring the traditional tunes with "I'll be home for Christmas" and "I'll have a blue Christmas without you," she realizes that the impending Noreaster threatens more than a safe ride home. It threatens to cover her daughter's stone and may prevent the opportunity to visit before celebrations and travels commence. So before the snow covers it, she drives to the cemetery, well aware that this behavior falls squarely under the heading of "crazy bereaved mother." And owning this label, she drives into the dark cemetery, kneels and whispers, "I'm sorry sweet baby girl. I miss you. I love you." She kisses her daughter's stone and allows a feeling of relief to sweep over her, knowing she made it before the snow covers and hides where her daughter is buried with its white blanket.
"My daughter is buried here," she explains to the police officer who prevents her incident-free exit. "I know I'm not supposed to be here after dark, and I'm on my way out, but I just had to visit before the snow covers." "OK, then, have a good night," he replies and drives on. Her tears fell in equaled furry to the snow.