The day my fiance fell to his death, it started to snow, just like the bottom hadn't fallen out of my world when he fell off the roof. His body, when I found it, was lightly covered with snow. It snowed almost every day for the next four months, while I sat on the couch and watched it pile up.  One morning, I shuffled  downstairs and was surprised to see a snowplow  clearing my driveway and the bent back of a woman shoveling my walk. I dropped to my knees, crawled through the living room, and back upstairs so those good Samaritans would not see me. I was  _ . My first thought was, how would I ever repay them? I didn't have the strength to brush my hair, let alone shovel someone's walk. Before Jon's death, I took pride in the fact that I rarely asked for help or favors. I defined myself by my competence and independence. How could I respect myself if all I did was sit on the couch everyday and watch the snow fall? Learning how to receive the love and support that came my way wasn't easy. Friends cooked for me and I cried because I couldn't even help them set the table. "I'm not usually this lazy," I swept. Finally, my friend Kathy sat down with me and said, "Mary, cooking for you is not a burden. It makes me feel good to be able to do something for you." Over and over, I heard similar words of comfort from the people who supported me during those dark days. One very wise man told me, "You are not doing nothing. Being fully open to your grief may be the hardest work you will ever do." In many ways I have changed for the better. I have been surprised to learn that there is incredible freedom that comes from facing one's worst fear and walking away whole. It is   _   that helped the author out of darkness.
herself her friends her fiance a snowplow