Early in the morning, Mom crept into my bedroom and crawled into bed beside me.

“Did you look outside?”

“I did, Mom. It’s really pretty out there, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

Silence.

“Let’s go back to my room. It’s prettier in there.”

“Your eyes are closed. How do you know it’s prettier?”

She tugged me out of bed.

In her room, we sat in her bed, propped up against her headboard, looking out over the front yard, the street, the majestical trees, all covered with snow, and soft, clumpy flakes continuing to fall from the sky.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It is, Mom. It is.”

There are hard moments. And there are magical moments like this.