I miss the thunder and lightening storms that I grew up with on the East Coast.
I miss them from our life in Ottawa as well.
Where I live, on the west coast, we do not get many thunder and lightening storms, and when they happen, they are short lived, and not terribly dramatic.
For many, there would be no ‘missing’ of thunder and lightening storms, but I truly do.
I miss how they made my heart pound.
I miss how they made the house shake. I miss the rumbling of the Earth, the shaking of the pictures on the walls, as the lightening hit nearby.
I miss counting from one clap of thunder until the next … counting how close it might be.
I miss the power going out, and darkness only being distinguished by the eye-blinding flashes of unpredictable lightening.
I miss the way such a storm would draw the whole family together in one room, as if we were together to play a game, or watch a flick, or share a meal.
I miss the story-telling that would come of the togetherness. Stories of storms past. Stories of how we, how other responded to the storms. Stories of those we knew, stories of those we had only heard of. Stories of fear, of bravery, of loss and of delight.
I miss the air cleansing rains that come after the storm. The rains that push the heaviness in the air away, far away. And replace it with a newness that breathing is intentional, so as to cleanse our lungs as well. All that was heavy, all that was life-hindering, all that was suffocating, was changed by the ear-pounding thunder, the earth shaking lightening that scared us to the point of alertness.
And the rains came, and washed all evidence of all that had been stealing our breath, so that we could take joy in the gift of living, the gift of every breath.
I miss it, I miss them, because the shock and fear that they produced reminded me that I am alive.
itsawonderfilledlife 