This is one of the worst winters in the Northeast United States in years, and there’s another 4 to 8 inches of snow in the forecast for tomorrow night.
The past month and a half has been a constant battle to keep my driveway and walks passable.
It seems as if I have been doing nothing but shoveling in my spare time, which has been limited since I’ve been mandated, several times, to stay at work until my relief arrives.
But nothing prepared me for Friday morning’s festivities.
I was tired after working my usual 11-7 shift at the hospital, and I was looking forward to falling into bed and crashing for a few hours.
I walked into the bedroom and just stared at my waterbed.
Now, I don’t have an actual waterbed, but the ice dam on my roof had caused melting snow to back up, seep through the roof shingles, and travel along the rafters in my attic. The water dripping from my bedroom ceiling light fixture had fallen directly onto the bed below. A pool of water was forming on the floor under and beside the bed.
So, no sleep, and lots of headaches.
I frantically called a phone number of a contractor who did roof snow removal. He was so busy that he never called me back.
I called a contractor friend of mine and asked him if he knew anyone who did that type of work.
Here’s where the “being thankful” part, in the midst of this chaos, begins.
My friend said he’d be out to take a look within a half hour. He left the job he was working on, and twenty minutes later he showed up and told me to call my insurance company to see if I was covered.
Jasmine, the MetLife customer service person, told me that any damage caused by the ice dam water seepage would be covered, but the cost of any snow removal to mitigate further damage would not.
My friend told me that he had to return to his work site, but he would return to clear my roof of ice later that day.
I asked him if I should tell the other contractor to come, if he called me back. His reply was, “Why would you do that? He’s going to charge you.”
I told my friend that I fully intended to pay him for the job. He told me, “Don’t worry about it. That’s what friends are for.”
He steadfastly refused to accept any payment for several hours of work, but finally relented when I told him I at wanted to at least, take him out for dinner.
So no more ice dam. No more water damage. All for the price of a prime rib dinner.
And then I realized that until then, I had never truly appreciated what a good friend I had.
Time for a new “What I’m Grateful For” card to go into the deck.