On Christmas morning 2008, I lay snuggled under a mass of heavy blankets waiting for B to come home from work. A quick glance at my phone told me that it was nearly 8am; he was a good 2 hours late coming home.
With a shiver, I slid off the bed and wandered over to the kitchen window of hopes of seeing any sign of my husband. There was only white. It had been snowing in Wyoming for days. What once had been my car was now just a cotton-colored mound. The wind had made snow drifts around the house and all over the roads that were easily 4 feet deep, if not more. The all night howling of the wind had made the roads nearly uncrossable.
My phone chirped from the bedroom and I rushed to answer it. It was B, he was stuck 100 yards away in a snowdrift and he couldn't get out. I quickly pulled on his heavy coveralls, his roommates snow boots, stuffed my hair under a hat and began treking my way up the hill to where he was, snow shovel in hand.
With every step I sunk deeper and deeper into the snow: Knee-high, thigh-high, waist-high, the snow seemed to suck you down with every passing moment. It took me nearly an hour to walk the short distance. My face was soaked and wind burned, my eyelashes were frozen, the wind making it impossible to see more than a foot in front of my face. I let out a cry every time I stumbled and landed face down in the snow. I felt angry, beaten, and forgotten by the storm. The sheer frustration of not even being able to walk felt almost unbearable.
I finally made it to my husband, he was in even worse shape than I was. He had been digging himself out for hours, only to have all his progress constantly undone by the fierce Wyoming winds.
For the next few hours we took turns digging while the other rested and tried to warm themselves inside our vehicle. With neighbors been far and few between and the snow storm raging on, it felt as though we were invisible, that no one would ever see us, that we were hopelessly stuck.
After a time and many, many silent prayers, someone did see us, tied chains and ropes to our vehicle, and quite literally yanked us out and saw us home. I have never felt more grateful. Someone saw our plight and pulled us out. We were rescued, and I felt that rescue in every part of my body as I peeled off my dripping wet clothing and put them in the washer.
I am having a day today where I feel like B and I are stuck in that snowstorm again, that we are digging and the wind keeps blowing and burying us deeper and deeper. I am feeling forgotten and stuck; I have that invisible feeling again. That feeling where it seems like we are going to be buried so completely that no one will ever see us. The only difference is, this time I have already attached the ropes, I have sent an SOS into the sky, I am screaming at the top of my lungs, and no one is listening. We need someone to pull us out.
I know that this will pass. I know that we are ok. We ARE ok. But today, I am feeling buried. But just as the snow, sweat, mud, and tears came out of our clothes that day, this, too, will all come out in the wash.
