I never did like the rain growing up...
The pitter patter against my window would make me anxious, waiting for the rest of the storm to come and shake my bedroom walls. I was convinced the tree in my front yard would land right on top of me if it ever got the chance; if there was ever a big enough wind. I’d build pillows around me in my little twin-size bed, like my own barrier of sandbags.
At night, after hours of tossing and turning, trying to ignore the sounds of mother nature throwing gutter balls, I’d get up and head to my parents’ room. I’d drag my hands against the wall to guide me down the pitch-black hallway. My mother would find me in the morning, glued to her hip as if I was an additional extension of her comforter. She was a security blanket to me. She was my bomb shelter.
This past weekend reminded me of those anxious feelings I used to have as a child. The way the wind would make my skin crawl and I’d cringe at the sound of crackling branches. I would try to ignore it all. The winds obnoxious whistle and shattering of ice falling from the tree’s limbs. I turned my television up to fifteen and hoped it would drown out the sound of screaming winds. For a second, I was tempted to go to my parents’ bedroom again.
What bothered me the most was the flapping screen in my window that overlooks the driveway. The screen is cut on three sides; left, right and bottom. One afternoon, a couple of month ago, after coming home from work, I realized I had forgotten my house key, and the door had locked from the inside. My parents were off having the time of their lives on some adult only cruise in the middle of the Mediterranean, while I was stuck home babysitting the dog and the cat.
Okay, not to panic, I can figure this out, I thought to myself. I’m capable, I’m strong, I’m smart. This isn’t the first time this has happened, unfortunately… I began to track around my house, looking for any window that happened to be cracked. Then it hit me, my window is open. I need a ladder.
It wasn’t till I finally got some help from a neighbor that we were able to find one and head up to my two-story window. We cut the screen open and crawled through. It’s now months later, I have yet to replace it. It’s still slashed and continues to wake me up periodically in the middle of the night, whenever it gets caught in a good wind.
Weather the storm… what an odd saying? We never use weather as a verb, as an action. A phrase that demonstrating resistance, perseverance, and resilience. When we are faced with storms, we go downstairs, we take shelter. We brace for impact and duck our heads from the endless hurricanes and tornadoes and ice storms that are thrown our way. But what if “weathering” it actually means to face it head on. To walk outside and face the rain and the hail. To withstand its high force winds as they pierce your cheeks like tiny needles, but fails to knock you over. Whatever gets you to the other side of the storm, but it helps to have someone who will hold your hand as you get there.
