Snowsuit season in this house is over. And as a newly widowed mom of two young kids, all I can say is thank God. Parenting tasks that are annoying can be soul-crushing when you've recently lost your husband. The daily snowsuit battle with my two girls was one of these things, and it brought me to tears many times this winter. As soon as I got one kid in boots, the other would need help with her mitts. Then I'd turn around and kid No. 1 would be crying about said boots, while kid No. 2 flung her mitts across the room because "they feel weird!" My brain would scream, "I have to deal with this nonsense alone for the rest of my life. Alone. For the rest of my life." The insanity of my children combined with the overwhelmingness of that thought unhinged me many a winter morning.

So the act of washing and putting away those freaking things made me feel utterly joyful. But then I brought out their spring jackets, hung them up in the front hall and was punched in the face by my grief again. Staring up at me in black Sharpie ink from inside each of my daughters' little jackets were their names, written in my husband's quirky, beautiful handwriting, the same handwriting that had written me love notes, birthday cards and anniversary cards. Eventually, the girls will outgrow the jackets, and they will be passed on to friends. Yet another thing in our lives that Kevin touched will be gone.

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