In Memory of a Blizzard

Last week we received word that Dr. Bill Logan, a former Norfolk dentist and a good friend of my parents', had passed away in Florida. We lived just down the street from the Logans in my first chilhood home (we moved across town when I was 14), and I have such fond memories of Bill, who loved to tinker with vintage automobiles (1937 Packards) and make everyone laugh.

I also remember Bill rescuing me during one fateful Nebraska blizzard, with an artic wind chill and terrifying drifts, that left me stranded at the grade school when I was 7 years old. My mom was home with my three younger siblings, and Bill offered to pick me up at school after classes were dismissed early. He had a son who was several years older than me, so after dropping him off at their house, he literally carried me down the street--through waist-deep drifts--to deposit me at my mother's feet.

I don't remember many details from that time, but I have a vivid memory of clinging to Bill, my face buried in his cool winter coat as he trudged through the blinding snow. People come into contact with us at many different times and for many different reasons throughout our lives; there are so many microscopic instants that are fleeting but meaningful. I will always be thankful that--for that moment, at least--there was someone there to carry me safely home again.