Today, we were snowed in.  A blizzard kept us home for a snow day.  Not really all that surprising when you live in New England.  It snows.  Sometimes, a lot.  Today was one of those days.

Some people complain about the snow.  I used to be one of them.  Until the day after my daughter died.  In my grief and need to get out of the house, I went for a walk in the dark of the night.  It was snowing, the beginning of another significant New England snowstorm.  There was but an inch or two on the ground.  As I walked, I noticed the quiet of the night.  The peacefulness.  The purity and cleanliness of the freshly falling snow.  As I gazed toward the Heavens, wondering where my little girl was, if she could see me, if I could connect with her, the cold snowflakes mixed with my hot tears.  

I smiled.  Snowflakes are like kisses from Heaven, I thought.  Delicate.  Gentle.  Sweet. Soft. Pure. Full of love, light, and fresh from the Heavens.  The freshly fallen snow was as cleansing as my tears were that night.  I've never quite looked at snow the same way again. Like most things in life, it's all about perspective. 

Today, while shoveling the nearly 30 inches of fluffy white snow, I allowed myself to fall into the snow, backward.  I sunk into the fluffy, white snow.  I gazed upward at the still falling snow, giggling.  I felt so safe and peaceful enveloped in the softness of the snow.  It was mesmerizing. It felt like... love.  I listened once again to the silence of the snowfall.  I smiled and made the deepest snow angel I've ever made.  

So next time you are lamenting the snow, get in touch with your inner child.  Go outside. Take a deep breath.  Savor it's beauty and perhaps, make a snowman or snow angel.  Gaze to the Heavens and accept those kisses from Heaven!  Open your heart to love from above.

Not only is snow cleansing for the mind, the air, and the soul, one cannot make snow angels with out all those kisses from Heaven!  What a perfect recipe.  Love from the heart and love from above, all wrapped up in purifying peace. 

The one pictured here is one of my finer snow angels, made a few years ago near Meghan's Angelversary.  It's made of kisses from Heaven.  It's full of love.

One of the words you often hear tossed around when it comes to coping with the death of a loved one is “strength.”  We think we have to be strong for others.  We are praised for our strength.  If I had a dollar for every time someone praised me for how strong I was or am, I’d be able to retire.  

Here’s the thing.  It’s not about being strong.  “Strong” is a term to describe physical strength.  We don’t define our ability to cope with loss by our physical strength. How much weight I can lift has nothing to do with my ability to cope with the death of my child.  

What people are referring to is emotional “strength.”  Unlike physical strength, this is not measurable.  It’s an opinion or a perception.  People often perceive someone as being emotionally strong when they are not dissolving into tears constantly, or, if they are seemingly able to go back to work, talk about their child’s death, or take an activist or advocacy role after their child has died.  

You've heard one should never assume, right?  While it’s true, some parents are able to do all of those things, it in no way means they are over their child’s death or even doing well processing it.  It may simply be a coping strategy, so they can get through the necessary tasks of daily living.  They may have simply buried all those emotions and focused their attention on other activities to avoid having to face the pain.  Or, maybe they break down into tears, get angry and collapse and pull the covers over their head when they get home, when no one can see the real them.  

People label others as “strong” emotionally because when they think about how they would likely feel if their child had died, they can’t fathom being able to function.   It’s definitely meant as a compliment and sometimes nice to hear, but it’s not what it’s really about and often not even true.

Unfortunately, when a bereaved parent, sibling, grandparent, or close friend or relative is perceived to be strong, there are few offers of help.  Few acknowledge or recognize the pain they are still in and the difficulty they might be having coping with the day to day, especially around special or important days in their lives.  People often stop asking how parents are doing when they are perceived as “strong” because everyone thinks they must be doing well, since they are so strong, or because they are not wearing their grief on their sleeve 24/7 anymore.  Often, it’s just not true.  Those parents may receive less support than the ones who are perceived as a mess emotionally.  Yet they need it just as much, if not more.

Please, don't assume just because a bereaved person appears to be "strong" or seems to be coping "well", that they are in any way over the pain of their loss.  They may be further along in their journey and better able to integrate their loss into their life, but they will never, ever, be over it.  They will never, ever forget.  They will always appreciate it when you remember their child, their loved one, and their pain of missing them.

My personal belief is that it’s not about strength at all. It’s about love.  

Let me say that again.  It’s not about being strong.  It’s about the depth of love we have for our children.  We don’t stop loving them just because they have died.  Their love for us was real and persists through their memory and the connection we’ll always have with them in our hearts. Everything I have done since Meghan died has been born of love.  The love I have for her.  The love she showered on me.  My love and caring for others, including those I don’t know, to the point that I don’t want any other parent to ever feel my pain.  Every word I've written, every word I've spoken, everything I've done with regard to Meghan, her death, and Meghan’s Hope is about love.  It’s how I continue to mother her.

It’s not about strength.  It’s about love.

Love is powerful.  Love is good.  Love will always prevail.  Love never, ever dies. We are not strong.  We are love.