Firsts

I had one of those moments today, the first of many to come. The firsts are always the hardest after a loss; the first holiday, the first birthday for each family member, the first year anniversary. Then there are those firsts that are unique to your relationship. I think those are the most difficult.

We are a family of weather-watchers. Once I overcame my fear of the sound of tornado sirens (I had a fear of loud noises that still exists in a more minor capacity to this day) I found that I preferred chasing tornadoes with my sisters over hiding from them. (As a side note, after the tornadoes that tore through my state this past spring, I think that tendency is gone.) Oftentimes I can see footage from a tornado and tell you where and when it happened because I’ve seen the video so many times. Weather-watching was sort of a strange fascination for us; whether it was severe spring storms or winter blizzards, we were usually gathered at Mom’s house switching between stations to get updates. There was a sense of security in being together as a family. If something horrible happened, at least we weren’t alone or wondering about the safety of our other family members.

Once I moved away, it was routine for Mom to call me when severe weather was moving into my area. “Are you watching the weather?” she would ask. I always knew that if I didn’t have the television on, Mom would warn me in plenty of time. If I was already aware, sometimes I’d call her before she’d call me. “Just wanted to let you know I’m keeping an eye on it!” We also had an understanding that I would call her after it had passed to let her know I was okay so she wouldn’t worry. Sometimes I would call several times in the middle of it to keep her updated on my whereabouts or to explain where the worst part of the storm was relative to my location. It was routine, it was expected, and it was comforting.

I was sick much of the night last night (fever-induced nightmares are so not fun) so I was in bed for much of the day today. I finally got up and around late in the afternoon, and right around the time I was considering a shower I started to hear thunder in the distance. I remember Mom always telling me not to shower during a thunderstorm because lightning can travel through water and electrocute you. That was a good excuse to get me out of doing dishes during stormy weather when I was a kid! (By the way, this isn't an "old wives tale" as some may think; my meteorology professor last year confirmed the validity of it.) 

Anyway, today's storm wasn't overly severe, but it was one of those storms where the thunder is distant for what seems like forever and then out of nowhere it's extremely loud and right on top of you. With that first BOOM, which shook the house and made the power flicker, my initial thought was, "I need to call Mom to tell her I'm watching the weather and that I'm okay..."

And just like that, I wasn’t okay anymore.

I'm Going Back to the Start

Sometimes our senses have a better memory than our brains do. My maternal grandmother passed away when I was just five years old, but I can still remember what her face powder smelled like. Spearmint gum smells like my paternal grandmother, who has been gone since 1991, and coffee smells like home. Not my house, because I rarely drink coffee, but home, where I grew up; where my parents were, where my friends were, where my bike and my toys and my pets were. Where my security is. A place where my family was young. Healthy. Alive.

I remember so many things about The House on Dewey Street...

Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf? Me!

The stuff of my childhood nightmares!

I’ve already touched upon how Cheryl used to scare Kenna and me with music. But that was far from the only thing that frightened me as a child. I daresay was the biggest scaredy-cat the world has ever known, and it wasn’t just normal kid stuff that scared me. Oh I was afraid of those things, don’t get me wrong. Spiders, bugs, snakes, the dark, the boogeyman, monsters under the bed or in the closet – they were all horrifying. But my childhood list of “Things That Make Me Jump, Scream, Cry, or Give Me Nightmares” included some not-so-common fears as well.

For instance, I was afraid of railroad tracks. It wasn’t just trains, although if a train was passing by I could be found cowering in the back seat with my hands clamped over my ears and my eyes squeezed shut. If that sucker was going to jump the track and land on our car, I didn’t want to see it happen. But even if there was no train in sight, the tracks themselves sent me into a tizzy. If I was crossing them in a car I was fine, and most of the time I could even ride my bicycle over them if I was going fast enough. But walking across railroad tracks was a different story. I would stand at the side of the tracks, look both ways, take a deep breath, chicken out, and start all over. I couldn’t explain why the trainless tracks scared me so much. Mom had a theory that I watched too many cartoons but I didn’t buy that.