Irish Goodbyes

I woke up shivering in my room in Germany. I walked over to my radiator to adjust the heat and rubbed my eyes to see my friend Hanna, asleep in the next bed over. She rolled over, laughed and said, "I was too lazy to get up and turn the heat on. Who knew a German winter could be colder than a Swedish one?"

I threw a cover over Hanna's head and said, "Go back to sleep silly, it's only 4am." 

Just a few hours later, the three little girls I looked after were jumping on our beds and shouting, "It's snowing, it's snowing."  Sophia, the middle child, told us that she felt lucky. It snowed on her birthday, just for her, she is convinced.  

Peering out my window, I saw the world, a world over, covered in white. And slowly, I saw it covered in tiny little footprints of the excited neighborhood children.

When Hanna saw that I was awake, she and I moved chairs close to the window.  I shared my blanket so we can both enjoy the view from the warmth of the room.  She nudged to remind me that she needs to leave to go home soon. And by home, I know she meant home for good. This was her last stop before her flight.

That was one of the things that I could never get used to overseas.  Having to know such incredible people in small periods of time.   I became very accustomed to the Irish Goodbye.

But I will always remember the way the snow looked that morning. How the texture of my blanket felt.  How chilly the wood floor was beneath my bare feet.  The details of that day linger with me forever, just like hundreds of other moments.  And every time I see snow now, I always think of Hanna.

I guess people just have a way of sticking with you forever.