I am scared of thunderstorms.
Not just scared
terrified.
And when I became a mother,
I took a lot of deep breaths
and used every ounce of
self control I could muster
discipline I didn’t know I had
love I knew was big but not that big
to not let my children see my fear
so they wouldn’t inherit it.
It’s when I miss him most,
you know.
My daddy.
When thunder shakes the house
and lightning leaves us in the dark
and rain comes in a deluge that finds Noah
backing his ark out of the garage.
If he was home when a storm came up,
Daddy would just appear at my door
without saying a word about the storm.
He was just in the neighborhood, you know.
If he was away,
he’d call.
Just to talk.
“You okay, hon?” he’d ask
then settle into a conversation
about this and that.
He just happened to be thinking about me,
you know.
I’m lying.
It’s not when I miss him most.
It’s one of the times I miss him most.
~~~~~~~
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