– Auggie’s Mom

Remember February 2011 when ATX woke up to almost an inch of snow on the ground? The City was paralyzed. I texted my colleague and told her I was going to take vacation time to build a snowman with my Kidlets. They were four years old; this was the first snow they had ever seen, and no way was I going to miss playing in it with them! They hurried through breakfast, through getting dressed, brushing hair and teeth, and all the other mundane daily habits parents of four-year-olds think is important to teach. I was in the moment with them, goading them to hurry, “Let’s see who can get their gloves on first,” “Last one out the door is a stinky face!” Meanwhile, Auggie’s dad tried to set expectations: “There’s really not enough snow to build a snowman.” 

He was right, of course, but we didn’t care. The snow melted almost faster than we could gather it. We rolled little balls of mostly dried, brown grass that were barely held together by a few snowflakes. We gathered all the snow from our yard, our driveway, and from nearby neighbors. We laughed and talked about how tall the snowman should be. Only after Auggie and his sister said we had reached the perfect height for a snowman, we declared that our fella was finished and that we were cold. It was time for hot chocolate, for rubbing our toesie-wosies, and for giggling over how much fun we’d had. 

Just 10 months later, we lost Auggie to leukemia. I remember wishing that everyone who was trying to comfort us to just go away and trying to focus on all the details of a memorial. I felt responsible for making sure that our out-of-town family and friends had a place to stay, that they had food to enjoy, that my house was clean enough to receive them. More importantly, I felt that this ceremony — a funeral, memorial, send off, whatever one wants to call it — was the last thing I would ever do for him. It had to be my best effort and I just wanted everyone to GO AWAY and leave me alone so I could cook and clean and make phone calls and write his obituary. Of course, everyone else took care of those things because I was paralyzed. I knew what I needed to do but I was incapable of doing anything more than breathing and holding on to my daughter and husband. Eventually though the quietness that I had longed for, happened. Everyone did go away, and we were left to learn how to face a different life.  

It was during this silent period that our Dear Neighbor knocked on our door. Like everyone during that time of our lives, she stumbled over what to say. She hugged and loved on Auggie’s sister and finally she remembered that she was there for a reason: she had found this picture and wanted us to have it. I do not remember her taking the picture, but here it is. It is on the refrigerator, and I look at it most days, usually as I take my first sips of coffee, when the dogs and the cat are having their breakfast and Auggie’s dad and sister are still asleep. ATX did not record a whole inch of snow that February, but somehow those few snowflakes still hold together a joyous moment, and I can feel the love and laughter of my Kidlets. So every time it is cold as fuck outside, my heart feels warm, and I am grateful for having had Auggie and that I still reap the joy of his love.