I finally got word today that we've heard from the last of my relatives missing since Hurricane Katrina struck over two weeks ago. That is such a blessing.
Sometimes I am so full of frustration and confusion that I can hardly hear myself think. I'm tempted during these times to crawl onto the sofa and pull the blanket over my head and drift below the surface with my dog cuddled at my feet. I'm not sure that's a productive response. My other instinct is to sit with my power book warming my lap and just journal and journal. My thoughts seem to be a huge tangle in my head, and by writing them down and can sit and patiently untangle them. This seems to be a more useful endeavor, although all I have to show for hours of writing is a slight loosening in my knotted brain.
But then I have moments when I stand on the porch holding my two year old and showing her the storm blowing in.
"Rain, rain," I say, gesturing out into the sprinkles.
"Wain," she repeats, looking awed.
"Storm...storm." I point at the sky, gasping and pointing at the flashes and cupping my ear dramatically, listening to the answering boom.
"Tor," she says.
More lovely moments drift my way. My almost eight year old comes and sits on my lap, too tall to climb. Her long arms wind around my shoulders and her feet drag on the floor.
"I love you, Mommy," she says softly, cuddling into me.
I squeeze her back. "I remember when you were a tiny baby," I whisper lovingly. "What happened to my baby?"
That brings a giggle. "She grew up."
I squeeze her tighter and feel all the tangles melting away.