Finding Peace in a Storm

We've been getting thunderstorms for the last few days. I actually quite enjoy them-- find them relaxing, even. :) Something about the rumbling... having a warm, dry home snuggled around me... cuddling up under a blanket with an awesome DVD. Good times. (Only time I don't like T-storms is when I have to drive in them.) I never thought anyone else in household really had a problem with them... until the other night.

It was a whopper. Lightning flashed repeatedly, and thunder rolled right over the house. Rain pelted the roof in a lovely tattoo. Pretty cool, in my opinion. :)

I was sitting at my computer, letting the rat-a-tat of rain lull me when I heard Poppa shout out from his bedroom, “HEY! Does anybody out there wanna sleep with me?”

At first, my dirty mind went to a baaad place. As Daddy later said, “Well, there's always the direct approach...”

But I knew what he really meant. He didn't want to sleep alone during the storm.

What to do?

I went into his room, and he looked up from his little hospital bed, his eyes wide. “Do you wanna sleep with me, sweetheart?” (I love how, when -he- wants something, he asks if -I- want it. Heh.)

I was about to pat him on the head and, well, brush him off-- he does call me into the room many times in one night, after all-- when the memories rushed in. I was no more than six and afraid to sleep in my room at their house by myself. Every night, I would insist that someone (usually Grandma, but Poppa too) would sleep in the bed with me. I had been hoping they would keep me safe all night, but they usually crept out of the room after I dropped off.

I looked down at Pop, who was looking up at me all pleading-like, and I melted. He said, “I'll just move over, and you can lie here with me.”

Um, no. Hello, twin-sized bed. (Why is it called a twin if it's so itty-bitty? Doesn't twin mean there are two? Wouldn't that be double the size of a regular bed?) So I sat on the floor (because there really wasn't any other space) and held his hand.

Another thunderclap rolled over the house and Youngest Monkey tore into Pop's bedroom, which he normally doesn't enter. He then whimpered and, without waiting for an invitation, curled up in my lap.

And that's how we waited for the storm to pass. Holding hands, curled up together. Youngest fell asleep first, followed by Pop. So I sat in his room, watched the lightning flicker behind the shades and remembered all the times that it was him keeping me safe from the dark and scaries, instead of the other way around.

I'm glad I was able to return the gesture.

Peace.