Thunderstorms remind me of being a little girl. I remember sitting in my brother's room as a preteen with my brother and sister, counting how far away the thunder was by how close it followed the lightning. (I still do this!) I remember as a very young child being told that thunder was the angels bowling. I remember how my brother and sister used to be scared of thunderstorms, and would go running to my parents for comfort. I remember laying in my bed watching the lightning flash across the midnight sky. Thunderstorms remind me of summer, of power outages, and of early fall tornado season.
There was one particular night where the storms were really loud and unsettling for everyone. I don't recall if they were conncected to tornado season or not. I was probably 11 or 12 years old. The storms were loud enough to wake my siblings (who could sleep through doomsday). At some point the two of them had gone to my parents' room, disquieted by the storms and unable to sleep. I'm not sure when this was during the night. All I know is that at somepoint, I guess it was after my parents had gone to bed, my mom came to my room and asked me if I wanted to come into her room and sleep there, instead of being alone in my room. Although part of me thought I was too old to be scared of thunderstorms, I happily accepted the invitation. I went with my teddy and my blankie to curl up on the end of my parents bed. Being the last one to arrive, I didn't get to be up close by everyone else, but it was still ok. There we were, the 5 of us, sharing one king sized bed, waiting out the thunderstorms.
I don't remember much else about that night. At some point I probably went back to my room, either for lack of suitable sleeping space in the bed, or becuase the storms were over, or both. I imagine my dad was up early for work, a bit more tired than usual. I doubt anyone got much sleep that night, but looking back, I don't think I would trade it, nor would the rest of them I hope. It's a memory I'll carry with me for a long time, if not forever.
