I Used to Love Him

Alabama taught me to love storms. At the age of 10 I moved to Tuscaloosa and it stormed (what seemed like) daily. The storms were like a pesky suitor who you had to keep constantly rebuffing, reminding him that he's just NOT your type. But he was relentless. Especially at night. Lightening would crack like a whip stirring me from my sleep. Thunder would rattle my window like a ghost desperate for attention. And the rain sounded like shards of glass slicing against the roof.

I knew I was too old to sleep with my parents, so I would grab a flashlight, a good book, head to my closet and ride out these relentless storms. Eventually my terror weakened to annoyance and eventually ambivalence. And I guess Alabama was like the friend who insisted you and this guy you are NOT interested in would make the perfect couple. She knew if I just gave him a chance, I'd see things differently. I guess she knew best.

In my teen years I did my best everything during a storm: Sleeping. Reading. Writing. As the weakened arms of a hurricane reached out to Mobile Bay, I sat comforted by the storm, applying to college. When the words wouldn't come I would listen to the raindrops drumming a song of urgency against the roof, allow the thunder to awaken me and resharpen my focus. And at night, the storms would wrap me in their arms and mesmerize me with the lightening: illuminating the room in shades of blues, greens, and on a truly magical night, purples.

Yes, I grew to love the storms. Alabama taught me. Just as she taught me to love football and say "y'all". The rain become one of the loves of my life: he granted me company when the silence got to be too much. He cried with me. He comforted me.

But in a matter of minutes, everything has changed. The warm air that typically accompanies a good Alabama storm turned ugly, dropping into a mile-wide whipping funnel: cracking, breaking, destroying everything in its path. Communities gone. Mothers, fathers, sons, daughters gone. Families dig through the rubbles of their homes looking for missing children. Survivors left to wonder how they put one foot in front of the other.

What seemed like this perfect match...a perfect love has turned to something so toxic, ugly and abusive. And while I am one of the arbitrarily lucky ones who walked away with life and property in tact, I want out of this relationship. Too many people have nothing. I replay the videos and as I watch with betrayed eyes as the storm changes the face of my city I think, "How could you?!"

I intellectually understand this particular F5 storm is an anomaly. God willing, I'll probably never witness anything that bad again. But that does not make it better. I cannot get past it. There's a light thunderstorm today in Tennessee. Nothing too severe (I've checked the radar at least 12 times this morning). Perfect weather for sleeping or curling up with a good book.

There's no comfort here for me. I am terrified. Every clap of lightening is yet another abusive blow and the thunder only reinforces what I now know:

I used to love storms. Now I don't.