Forecasts of the coming storm started flashing across social media about three days before it actually hit us, which gave me time to head to Walmart for supplies. My youngest daughter and I go backpacking a lot, so we dug out our propane stove (a tiny JetBoil) to have on hand in case the power went out. I added “mini-propane tanks and dehydrated food” to our Walmart list.
CNN sounded apocalyptic: “A massive winter storm poised to unleash a barrage of heavy snow, treacherous ice, rain, and severe thunderstorms across a 1,300-mile swath of the United States will affect an estimated 62 million people starting Saturday afternoon and continuing into Monday (CNN).
At Walmart, my brain shifted gears. The store was packed. We grabbed snacks, but I added a few things: five gallons of drinkable water, batteries for our flashlights, some first aid items.
The Weather Channel sent me a notification: “Winter Storm Blair… the first coast-to-coast snowstorm of 2025, bringing heavy snow to Kansas City, Cincinnati and Washington, D.C. At least 10 deaths so far are…blamed on the storm that has shut down interstates, caused thousands of airport delays and racked up more than 350,000 power outages from Kansas, Missouri and Illinois into Virginia, Washington and Maryland” (WeatherChannel).
At home, I started putting the groceries away, but my thoughts were outside, in the backyard shed, trying to remember where I had placed the snow shovels.
I instructed Liz to put the rest of the groceries away and headed outside to find a few more things: those snow shovels, and some tools, whatever tools I might need if the power went out, or if I had to fix something that broke.
Fox News posted on Facebook, providing timelines for snow and ice storms and translating weather terms like “cross-polar flow” (FoxNews).
I quickly researched weird things like the amount of snow weight my little saltbox house could bear, how many feet of snow a small deck could hold, and the types of terrain my Jeep could handle. Then the storm hit.
I used to love snow storms. I loved the break from life it provided and the chance for my little family to slow down and reconnect with each other — but this was not that.
I am no longer Sonney the happy mom who gets to sip her coffee while watching the snowflakes come down. I have to manage things differently, now. JD was always the guy monitoring the snow threat, grabbing supplies, clearing off snow buildup, shoveling the driveway, and prepping the vehicles. He was wired that way.
I was always the one who planned the day for our family. I cooked yummy soups, initiated snow walks, snowman building, and snowball wars, and gathered blankets in the living room for a family movie night. If the power went out – I lit candles and said things like, ‘Oooooo what an adventure!’
Without Jay, things are just different.
Instead of making soup, I established a rotation schedule for clearing snow weight from the deck, canopy, and outbuildings. I shoveled the entrance to our driveway and cleared snow off the cars to make it easier for us to drive if an emergency popped up. And I thought about Jay, a lot.
These are the moments when I realize three things:
- One, this is how JD viewed his role as protector and provider – during a snowstorm – which I never really considered. (I feel bad for being ignorant of this when he was alive.)
- Two – His role is what allowed me to have my role.
- Three – this is my life now. I no longer have the nurture mindset, only the protect and provide mindset. I am, as they say, in my masculine, because I need to be.
I don’t have a word or a phrase for how big my grief gets in these moments. I simultaneously ache for my partner, feel ashamed of my ignorance for his role when he was alive, and become practically feral in my effort to overcome a threat.
I am strong, it turns out.
The storm came. I ran my house and property checks and monitored snowfall. The tarp on my little shed ripped despite my efforts. The Jeep handled the roads like a champ.
Lizzy, my youngest at 21 years old, is the only one left at home with me. She coaxed me outside to build a snowman, whom we ended up naming Earl. We made plans to build him a partner named Eleanor, but I never got back out there, so he just stood alone with an awkward stick-smile on his face. I’m grateful to have Lizzy, but she is launching in the summer, heading to Oregon, and I am proud of her for leaving the nest. ‘That’s the goal,’ I’ve always said to my kids.
And me? What will that leave here in Maryland, now? My oldest is a few states over, a move that resulted from a job offer my son-in-law couldn’t refuse. My son is in Oregon where my youngest will soon be.
I think it’s time for me to go home – home to the shadows of the Cascade foothills to put some roots down.
It’s time to go home.
About Sonney Wolfe
Sonney Wolfe is a writer, educator, mother, nona (grandma), and widow. She holds a Master of Arts in English, teaches academic and professional writing for the University of Maryland, and writes features, press releases, blog posts, and personal essays for various news and social media.
Widowed in December of 2019, she soon joined the masses in COVID lockdowns, which deepened her understanding of grief as she witnessed widespread loss, especially among students. Now, she integrates grief support in her college classrooms by addressing pandemic disruptions, community loss, and mental health challenges. Her autobiographical teaching philosophy, born from her own grief journey, provides a platform to share her experiences and support students who have also lost loved ones.
In her professional writing, she sheds light on the human experience of loss and grief, particularly for widows. She explores the complex societal shift they face, transitioning from wives to widows and often single parents. This sudden change forces widows to navigate not only grief, but also a landslide of challenges: income loss, economic strain, relocation, career shifts, altered healthcare needs, and declining mental health.
Her Blog WIM Dispatches (Woman in Motion), https://sonneywolfe.com, chronicles her personal grief journey and advocates for the needs of widows, along with her IG: @WIM_Dispatches – and Facebook page: WIM Dispatches Life After Jay.