January 22, 2020 - Omega

His hand was reaching toward the door on the passenger side of the car.  Another hand from within the car was grasping his hand.  He stood patiently, erect, stoic, his hand firmly holding her shaking hand.  He did not reach down to help her out of the car because he knew she did not want that.  He offered stability only and let her handle herself in her own way, which she worked so hard at doing.  Her hand was shaking considerably, but his firm grasp did not let go, and his patient face never betrayed or acknowledged her difficulty. 

I continued on my way.  Had I witnessed any further, it would have been rude.  I knew eventually she would get out of the car of her own accord, firmly in his grasp but without any other help from him.  She would slowly walk to the store with him, and they would shop and do what they have always done.  It was a ritual, and rituals must be performed exactly or they lose their meaning.  This particular ritual had been performed for a very long time, and when done properly each time as it always was, it added to the Power.

This is winter.  This is what winter is.  This is what winter does, and it does not matter if a hand shakes from the cold or shakes from age.  The result is the same—a tremulous acknowledgement of an advancing situation that each of us must face.  Sometimes a hand will shake from violent emotion at the ending of a relationship—the winter of the liaison.  Sometimes a hand will shake from disease—the winter of the body.  But the hand always shakes in the winter.

There is a beauty to the ice and snow, a glinting surface of diamonds reflecting the tiniest light.  In any other situation at any other time of year, a tiny wisp of light would be lost and, indeed, never even known, having no surface upon which to reflect.  But winter knows how to find the tiniest of lights.  It knows how to reflect the gentlest and weakest of lights and turn them into brilliant diamonds of exquisite beauty.  Winter knows the glory of the end.

And there is glory in the end—in a job well done, a life well lived, a body braced in pain and determination, a love found and lost forever.  There is glory in moving forward proudly with one’s head held high, hands shaking.  There is a shining brilliance in the gathering of one’s dignity, even if it must be picked up piece by piece from a dirty floor.  There is a tiny, undying light in facing winter head on, a light that would be lost at any other time.  There is immortality in the steadfast courage of the one who faces winter squarely.  There is a hidden reward.

I am the Omega.  I am the last one standing.  I am the final warrior.  After me, the cycle starts all over again at the beginning, only to end once again in me.  I am the termination.  I am the gift at the end.