Apparently it’s going to snow again this week. In fact, it’s snowing lightly now, as I type the first draft of this post. Love it or hate it? Both, actually. I loved the snow that fell in January this year. I played in it, walked in it, photographed it, shovelled it, drove to and from rehearsals in it and marvelled at the true whiteness of it in the fields for days on end.
Yet three years ago today, my telephone rang in the early hours of the morning, and I cursed the snow that fell as I drove, in a state of shock and disbelief, to my parents’ house. My father had suffered a fatal heart attack at the age of just 56, and our family’s world would never be the same again. So today, seeing snowflakes fall leaves me just a little sad, remembering a moment that, for me, will be frozen in time forever.