"The First Snowfall" -- Poem for Sorry Works! Holiday Message
This is our last column for 2022, and I want to thank everyone for reading and sharing our content this year. Your support is greatly appreciated. A Happy Hanukkah, Merry Christmas, and blessed New Year to our friends and colleagues. I hope you will consider the column that follows below to be a gift worth treasuring.
God Bless,
- Doug
Doug Wojcieszak, Founder and President
Sorry Works!
618-559-8168 (direct dial)
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"The First Snowfall"
My teenage son, Will, is a future engineer, and like most STEM kids he struggles with fine arts, fictional reading pieces, and other things don't involve math or getting one's hands dirty. Will, a high school junior, has an "A" in English class, but he must work at it. Recently, Will's teacher assigned the kids a poetry project, which sent a shudder down my dear boy's spine. Each student had to pick a poem, analyze their selection, and get to know the author. Will chose "The First Snowfall" by James Russell Lowell (1819-1891). Will picked the poem on the title alone; we are going skiing this winter so a poem about snow couldn't be too bad, so thought my son. Unfortunately, the poem was anything but a walk by the woods on a snowy night for my buddy William. He trudged into my office last week and declared, "I don't get it, Dad," so we sat down and read the poem together.
James Russell Lowell and his wife had four children, but only one child (Mabel) survived to adulthood. Their three other children died as infants or toddlers in 1847, 1849, and 1852 respectively. The poem "The First Snowfall" was Lowell publicly sharing his grief for his first child, Blanche. He mourned the first snowfall of winter which covered his daughter's grave and headstone. His surviving child, Mabel, was featured in the poem asking her dad who makes the snow. Lowell responded God makes the snow, and gave Mabel a kiss that was intended for Blanche. My summary does not do justice to Lowell's poem, which is below. In reading Lowell's words, the audience can see the snow coming down and piling on everything, including the sweet baby girl that a broken-hearted father yearned to hold.
Snow is a symbol of our holiday season and the winter that is now upon us. For some of us (Will and me included), snow is an object of beauty and fun, and being outside on the slopes or just walking down the neighborhood street on a snowy night can offer great joy and peace. However, the beautiful snow -- along with the holidays -- can be another dagger in the hearts of those whose grief is different.
I shared this poem with my mom and she described to me how when the first snow came after my brother's death, she was almost hysterical worrying she could not find Jim's grave during her weekly visit to the cemetery. Those grieving a tragedy have feelings and fears that are foreign to the "normal" grieving process. Let Lowell's poem remind you of this reality.
Losing a young person to a tragedy, be it a sickness, criminal act, or accident such as a medical error is distinct from the death of seniors. Losing a senior is often like finishing a good book...most can quickly smile about what was and give thanks their loved one is no longer in pain from the maladies that often inflict older family members. However, when a child or young adult is taken, it's like pages are ripped from the book and things will never be completely right again. It's different. Let Lowell's poem remind you of this reality.
Finally, Lowell's poem was a juxtaposition for me....modern medicine (along better sanitation) have eliminated the diseases that likely took Blanche Lowell and her siblings, yet medical errors are far too common in modern medicine and they injure and kills thousands annually. Separated by 150 years and the modernization of medicine, my parents experienced the same grief as James Russell Lowell.
Please read the poem below and experience the imagery of Lowell's words; they are hauntingly beautiful. I can literally see the snow coming down in The First Snowfall, and will happily welcome such a sight here at home and on the slopes. This is a beautiful time of year, but remember there are those among us who are suffering. Let us be a light to these hurting souls. Let Lowell's word inspire us to make medicine safer and also be transparent with those who grieve medical errors, so as not to compound their grief any further. And give your kids (and grandkids) an extra hug and never miss a chance to say "I love you."
Note: Some of the words in opening stanzas of the poem are "old" and what likely threw my son, Will...here are the translations so you are not confused:
"Gloaming" is late afternoon/early evening
"Ermine" is a white coat
"Earl" is a British nobleman
"Carrara" refers to white marble
"Chanticleer's" refers to a rooster -- a cold, snow covered rooster in this instance
"Sweet Auburn" is the name of the cemetery where Lowell's daughter is buried, and he would be later be buried here
The First Snowfall by James Russell Lowell
The snow had begun in the gloaming,
And busily all the night
Had been heaping field and highway
With a silence deep and white.
Every pine and fir and hemlock
Wore ermine too dear for an earl,
And the poorest twig on the elm-tree
Was ridged inch deep with pearl.
From sheds new-roofed with Carrara
Came Chanticleer's muffled crow,
The stiff rails were softened to swan's-down,
And still fluttered down the snow.
I stood and watched by the window
The noiseless work of the sky,
And the sudden flurries of snow-birds,
Like brown leaves whirling by.
I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn
Where a little headstone stood;
How the flakes were folding it gently,
As did robins the babes in the wood.
Up spoke our own little Mabel,
Saying, "Father, who makes it snow?"
And I told of the good All-father
Who cares for us here below.
Again I looked at the snow-fall,
And thought of the leaden sky
That arched o'er our first great sorrow,
When that mound was heaped so high.
I remembered the gradual patience
That fell from that cloud-like snow,
Flake by flake, healing and hiding
The scar of our deep-plunged woe.
And again to the child I whispered,
"The snow that husheth all,
Darling, the merciful Father
Alone can make it fall!"
Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her;
And she, kissing back, could not know
That my kiss was given to her sister,
Folded close under deepening snow.