Last week, I thought it odd that my body got strangely calm when I gouged a chunk out of my pinky. I seemingly slowed down bodily functions, keeping my finger from bleeding until after I retrieved the ball from the rooftop, returned the broom to its owner, then raced to the bathroom to wash it. I consider myself someone who can stay calm when faced with tense situations or individuals. As a Mom, I have to be the confident rock as we navigate life and its challenges.
Yesterday morning, I thought it odd that I froze and lost track of what task I held when I heard the thunder rumbling through town. I didn’t get tense, but the pounding scrambled my focus and functionality. I rationalized that because it was daytime, I couldn’t see the lightening first to warn me, so I was caught off guard.
Yesterday afternoon, I thought it odd that I seriously wanted my mom, well not really, but enough to tell her that I thought I did, when the crashing clouds gathered directly above my head! Being on the third floor, highest on the hill, one is closer to God and the elements. These thunderous outbursts crashed louder and longer than any others I’ve heard in my life. I was escaping to the second floor when one blast set off such an ongoing racket that I was convinced the third floor had caved in. Later, I watched through the window, following the sound passing through the clouds like Pendleton tanks practicing explosive drills.
As a child, I thought it amazing that my mom controlled the uncontrollable when we sat by the window watching the lightning and counting the seconds until the thunder spoke, and the gaps drew smaller as the storm approached, as she said it would. I still remember the smell of the rain and the swirling humidity breezing through my chiffon babydoll nightgown, not knowing if the chill on my skin was the breeze or fear.
Last night, I thought it heart warming that I had a new comfort level and fondness of one of the scariest most impactful childhood occasions in memory, when I gained a new perspective.