This winter has been the snowiest in the Philadelphia area in a decade, and of course, it’s also my first winter without Chuck. Eight years ago, Chuck was medically prohibited from shoveling snow, but he still cleared my car, swept light snow, and spread ice melt. I tried to shovel, though it grew harder for me. That’s when my “snow angels” stepped in. A neighbor from our cul-de-sac would shovel our walkway and driveway when I couldn’t.

This year, the “snow angels” are working overtime. Four families are collectively taking care of snow removal at my house, and I am deeply grateful. This weekend’s snowstorm brought the greatest snow totals this season, about 12 inches. Yesterday, once the snow had almost stopped, neighbors emerged from their homes to begin cleanup. Armed with one snowblower and many shovels, the “snow angels” helped each other and then made their way over to my house. Once the front of my driveway was cleared, one person pulled my SUV into the street, and people began cleaning it off while others cleared my walkway and the rest of my driveway, making sure I had a clear path to my car and access to my trashcans.

“Many hands make light work,” says the proverb. I don’t think there was anything “light” about yesterday’s work, but the many hands of my “snow angels” got many driveways and cars ready for travel. There aren’t enough words to express the way the core families on this cul-de-sac look after and lift each other in times of need. I am truly blessed.

It was Wednesday, February 14, 1979—Valentine’s Day—and I was in my junior year of college. Chuck worked for the Reading Railroad (now SEPTA) as a conductor. We had plans to go out to dinner, but I don’t remember where. It was probably because we never made it to that restaurant. At this point in Chuck’s career as a train conductor, he was working the Extra Board. That meant he would be called for a job as it became available, without a regular schedule. We had to be flexible and improvise.

When Chuck got off work, he picked me up for a “romantic” dinner at Pizza Hut! I didn’t care where we ate as long as I got to see him. We pulled into the parking lot. I was sitting next to Chuck. In those days, we didn’t wear seatbelts, so instead of sitting in the passenger seat, I sat next to him. As we sat in the Pizza Hut parking lot, Chuck pulled out the little black box and asked me to marry him. He may not have finished the whole question before I answered! After all, we had been together since December 1973, and I couldn’t wait to be his wife and start a life together.

Of course, I wanted to go right home and show my parents and siblings the beautiful marquis diamond ring. But that would have to wait. Chuck had worked a long shift, and he was hungry. There was no way he was leaving without something to eat. We went in and ordered food. I am sure I didn’t eat much because I was busy admiring the shiny diamond on my left hand.

Our engagement set the tone for the rest of our marriage. We were not a couple who made grand gestures or gave expensive gifts just for appearances. We gave each other what we needed. Usually, that was a listening ear, a gentle embrace, or words of support—in other words, love.

We fell in love with each other over and over for 45 years of marriage. Chuck always said we should “never let the honeymoon end,” and we tried to do just that. It wasn’t all rosy and easy-going, but we had a good life. We put each other first, knowing that as a team, we could conquer any problems that came our way.

In August, 1980, we first danced as husband and wife to Barbra Streisand’s “Evergreen.” Its lyrics capture the essence of our love story.

“Love ageless and evergreen
Seldom seen by two…

You and I will make each night a first
Every day a beginning
Spirits rise, and their dance is unrehearsed
They warm and excite us
‘Cause we have the brightest love.”

On the days that are difficult, when tears stream down my cheeks in sadness, I try to bring to mind one of Chuck’s tender or funny memories, and I fall in love with him all over again.

Snowstorms hit differently now that Chuck is gone – now that all the preparation falls on me. I didn’t panic, though; instead, I methodically ran down a list of things I knew Chuck would have done and started there. I picked up groceries, filled my tank, and bought an extra flashlight in case we (I) lost power. I was ready to be snowed in for a couple of days.

Several friends asked if I’d weather the storm at one of my children’s houses, but the idea never crossed my mind. I love my kids and grandkids, but didn’t want to be snowed in with 8- to 12-year-olds. Books, blankets, candles, and flashlights were all I needed. My neighbors had already said they’d handle the shoveling; four families on my cul-de-sac look after me whenever it snows. I can’t imagine living anywhere else, snow or no snow.

Sunday came, and the snow began to fall, as did my tears. I was hoping to read peacefully by the window under a comfy blanket, but my plan was thwarted by these unexpected tears and my inability to concentrate. Each time someone called or texted to check in on me, I cried again. Why was I unable to control these mini-meltdowns? I was safe and warm and still felt so sad – missing Chuck so much.

This was another “first” without my person. This first major snowstorm of the season brought back memories of being snowed in with Chuck. That usually consisted of Chuck making several trips out to shovel to keep up with the mounting snowfall. After his open-heart surgery eight years ago, when he was not medically cleared to shovel, he would anxiously look out the window while I shoveled – worried about my aching knees and back. Once back inside, I knew there would be some warm and yummy meals Chuck had prepared. We might watch a movie, but more than likely, we would be watching the news, endlessly updating the local snow totals. Then the predictions about whether I would have school the next day began. Simple memories of a simply wonderful partnership.

The tears overflowed into Monday, but were not as frequent. That’s when I started being annoyed with myself for breaking down so much on Sunday. Totally irrational, I know! It has only been four months since Chuck died, and I don’t know what ridiculous standard I am trying to hold myself to, but I should try giving the grace I give to others to myself.

On Tuesday, I received a CareNote from the funeral home in the mail. They arrive once a month. This month was all about crying and how good it is for you to cry while experiencing grief. I took that as a sign that I am doing okay in the grand scheme of things. I know I will always be sad that Chuck is not here physically by my side, but I am hopeful that, in time, my memories of our happy life together will bring more smiles than tears.