After living in my home state of West Virginia full time since 2016, I’ve begun to become familiar with the weather patterns. They are vastly different here than in Colorado. The forty years I lived there taught me to watch the far horizon for an oncoming storm. Here in West Virginia, we watch the light and listen for the sound of wind and rain in the surrounding woodlands.

I know very little about sailing. What I have learned was from a handsome young Mayan boy at a Caribbean resort many years ago. A dear friend had lost her husband after a relatively short struggle with cancer. Three of us decided to take her away after the funeral for a change of scenery. We thought it was a grand idea, and indeed...she took it like a champ. But, none of us had had any experience being a widow at that point and honestly...I have no idea how she did that. But she pulled it off and we all had a grand time.

I’ve taken comfort from the bluebirds that visit me frequently. They started showing up when I sat by Mr. Virgo’s grave. And I don’t mean flying around me. I mean, coming to rest, three at a time on the open car door with an extra one on the side view mirror. Each time I visited the cemetery, more and more bluebirds arrived and they made my heart sing. 

Well, dear ones...this is it. The last day of the year. The last day of a decade. And oh...what a time it has been. At the beginning of it, I was happily married to Mr. Virgo...living in Denver and not much liking that part, except for being in close proximity to my children. Not that I got to see them much. I was very focused on my husband and didn’t see past the end of my nose. A major regret.

I remember the way I felt when the calendar turned from 2013 to 2014. Somehow, in my grief addled mind, I thought it would make things better. It would create distance between Mr. Virgo’s death and....the present. I thought maybe there would be magical power in being able to say “He died LAST year”...as if that space and time would somehow fix this dreadful suffering I was mired in.

Mr. FixIt and I were watching a movie Christmas night when I received a notification from PayPal on my phone. My domain fee for my website was due. I thought back over the time frame when I built the website and it was over the Christmas holiday. When I opened the invoice, it had the GoDaddy logo and the date, amount due, and my domain name. All official looking. I must admit, I was distracted by the movie. And, the thought that it was odd coming in on Christmas Day had barely registered when I determined it was legit and hit “pay”.

We entertained my bonus family last night for our annual Christmas gathering. I started a new tradition with them when I entered the picture...chili and cinnamon rolls. One of the grandchildren loves Key Lime Pie so I made one along with an Apple Pie...another family favorite. Along with the chili came a large platter of peanut butter sandwiches. This is a West Virginia thing. When we were in school, the cooks either served peanut butter sandwiches or peanut butter cookies on chili day. We had both last night.

It wasn’t a White Christmas in West Virginia this year. And, honestly? That’s just fine with me. The “romance” of a White Christmas left me a long time ago when I lived in Colorado. The winter after Mr. Vigo died saw that snow shovel with just one name on it...mine! And I was none too happy about it, trust me. Still...if it only snowed once...at Christmas and then left, I’d be perfectly happy with that.

Here is a link to Girl Camper Moments...the branded series I write for the Girl Camper website. I share this story every year on Christmas Eve...as a reminder to me that, even though that first Christmas was so incredibly difficult, time passes and we accommodate ourselves to grief.

We learn where the edges of that jagged hole are and how to avoid falling in "ass over teakettle". It took a lot of tears and prayers, and God carried me when I was too tired to walk. My prayer is always that you find hope through my stories.

Christmas and Hanukkah overlap each other this year. It doesn’t always, as the Jewish calendar is lunar and changes year to year. I started celebrating Hanukkah as a single mom when Daughter #1 was around three years old. I rented the basement of another single mom who had two little children. Niza was Jewish and exposed me to the Jewish holidays and traditions. Then, when Hubby #2 came along and was Jewish, the traditions continued.