The skies have grown dark, and the low rumbling of thunder begins. I snuggle down deeper in my bed with a smile on my face.
She runs from window to window, the panic running through her veins. I can hear her pace. I can tell by the sound of her footsteps that she will try to involve me in her watch.
She is at the bedroom door. She doesn’t bother to knock. It is an emergency in her racing mind. “You need to get up. There’s a storm”
I can’t contribute to her sickness anymore. I spent 20 years walking the floorboards with her. Me being by her side was to be a comfort for her, but all it did was fan the flames… gave credence to her sickness.
“Get up,“ she repeats with fear rising in her throat. “Why, Mom? Why do you want me to get up?” I answer in my calmest voice. She speaks as the expert….as the only voice of reason, “There’s a cloud! What if its bad? We need to watch it!” I remind her that we don’t watch clouds here, This is not West Texas with open vistas to watch the approaching nightly entertainment.
“Then how do we know when to go to the storm cellar?” She is angry that her logic is not working in this foreign environment. I remind her that there is no storm shelter to be found in this part of the country. I give her a hug, tell her to go back to bed. I remind her to quit worrying about something she can’t control. That is a foreign concept to her.
I return to my bed and snuggle under the covers. My smile returns as the thunder rattles the windows. I am comforted by the sounds of the storms. I relax and thank God for helping me overcome the illness she passed down. As I drift off to a peaceful sleep, I realize that there is no pacing outside my door. She is getting better.