Winter Was Hard

The forecast is calling for warmer weather--but I'll believe that spring has arrived when I'm able to commute to work in less than three layers for a week straight. No, not even then. Check back with me in June.

I think I'm getting to the point in my life where I really begin to dread the winter, and not just on account of the chill. Let me illustrate my point by way of example:

A couple weeks into the new year, my mom and step-dad found out that their dog had advanced lymphoma. A couple weeks after that, she was dead. A couple weeks after that, a long-time friend of theirs succumbed to another form of cancer.

The topper, though, was what happened to my mother-in-law just a few days ago. A friend of hers, who had been battling a prescription drug problem, overdosed and died. The same day she got a call that another friend of hers was in the hospital--he was dead by the time she arrived.

Although this is the most extreme example, the past few winters have been more or less like that. When MLW's sister was battling cancer, the roughest patch was during the winter. When our first pregnancy resulted in a miscarriage, it was mid-January. The mini-BG's surgery was at the end of February.

You get the picture. And this is just the past three years.

Now, I realize that there has been some balancing experiences: the Beach Ghostlette was conceived during the winter (cue wah-wah guitar), and her surgery was completely successful, making the stress it put the two of us through very, very worth it.

On the whole, though, I'd just as soon Mother Nature rouse her ass up and get along with the next season already.

Next: Some music? Other blather? Whatever it is, it's got to be light-hearted.