Fog and Rain
Hurricane Ian swept in with rain and wind this weekend. For the most part I stayed snuggled inside, reading and watching TV with my husband and oldest son who was home for a visit. I did slip out for short bursts to take a few pictures. This weather and the turmoil it brings does strange things to me. I can feel the hairs stand up on my arms. There is that feeling deep in my gut that reminds me that nothing is certain. And everything is precious.
In 1999, as hurricane Floyd ripped through Virginia, my husband was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma (for the first time). The doctors were kind. “While this cancer is not curable, it is treatable.” And the doctors were blunt. “Your husband will very likely be dead within 7 years.” As a forty year woman, with two young children, all I heard was, “you will have to raise your children by yourself.”
I stood outside the hospital emergency room, wind howling and rains pouring down, trying to keep it together to call my mother-in-law and tell her the news. In my own suffering, I felt hers, too.
My hands shook so violently I could barely bring the cup of water the nurse handed me to my mouth. But I drank the water, took a deep breath, and walked forward into my new life. I’m not sure I ever really let myself feel those painful feelings, and sometimes they come out in bits and pieces these days.
Hurricane season is always a reminder of the trauma we’ve lived and the joy we feel in living fully.