“Snow!” was my first thought, when I looked out the window that morning. Soon children were using makeshift sleds to scoot down the hill in front of my house. As big, wet tufts of snow continued falling, I thought, “Well, this is rather nice!”  

Then the power went out. Since it was 20 degrees outside, I hurriedly donned two sweaters, a woolen hat, a jacket and corduroy pants. Then I lit the gas fireplace, which emitted enough warmth to give at least a modicum of comfort. As I made plans for the night, which included hauling up sleeping bags from the basement, the power came back on. “Oh, thank you, God!”  

I turned off the fireplace and attempted to close the flue, but it wouldn’t budge. Now what? I looked outside and spotted my neighbor’s college-age son building a snowman. I asked for his help and he was quick to oblige, although he couldn’t close the flue either. Thankfully, his father came over and had immediate success.  

Later, I heard the sound of shovels and looked outside to see neighbors clearing snow from the path to my door. The next day, it was time to replenish supplies, but first I had to dig out the car. Another neighbor came to my rescue with a snow brush and soon I was on my way.   

As a widow, storms spark memories of the days when there were two of us looking out the window. My husband was a guy who liked challenges and met snow storms with a sense of wonder.  

Jef had grown up in the country in a family that prized self-sufficiency. He made sure we had supplies for whatever challenges Mother Nature doled out. We had an array of battery-operated flashlights, lanterns, a radio and plenty of candles. When the power went out in winter, he fired up the gas grill outside to make supper. He was also quick to join the entourage of neighborhood kids, sledding down the hill and having snowball fights.  

Illustration by Jef Murray

An artist, he took photos of skies and landscapes as studies for his paintings. He joked that when it came to models, he was too cheap to hire someone, so some of his paintings feature figures that closely resemble the artist. On snowy days, he would rush joyfully into the yard to capture wintry images. Because he often depicted scenes from Middle-earth, he would don a black robe with a black hat and carry a wizard’s staff.  

Now I tap into his sense of wonder, recalling how he saw everything, whether it was a spectacular storm or a stirring sunrise, as a gift from God. Sometimes, when things are especially hard, I ask him for help. I recall the hours my niece and I put in, soon after he died, trying to figure out the password for his computer. He had left hints, but none were working out. Then in the middle of the night, I awoke with the correct password in my head. I knew he had helped me solve the riddle.   

I don’t think that when people die, they totally abandon us. I find comfort in the Catholic belief in the Communion of Saints, which is a sacred link between people on earth and the souls who are with God. My earthly neighbors were quick to help me during the storm, and in his own way, Jef was also doing his part. After all, what encouraged me most was reflecting on his joyful conviction that whatever God sends us is a blessing.