Before the Rain

Mile Marker 610:

When I drive into the rehab parking lot, PT Deb is waiting for me under the overhang.  

“Thought you’d come by boat!” she calls, as I maneuver my body out of the car.

It’s raining torrentially.  Water rushes into the sewer grates.  My instinct is to run, but I step gingerly through the puddles.  Slowly, so each step's secure.

I’m about 3 minutes late which, it turns out, isn’t so bad.  The gym is practically empty.

My friend Dan wheels up in his chair.   “I had to wait 20 minutes before I could even get out of my truck,” he says.   His wheelchair got soaked, but the seat cushion stayed dry.  A small victory.

Rewind a few hours.  As I'm getting out of bed that morning, I hear we're in for 2 days of rainstorms.  Ugh.

I don't rue the rain.  It waters the garden, saving me precious time and energy.

But as I peer out the window, the sky’s losing its optimism.  Humidity gathers in little droplets on the telephone wire.  

I have to get out there before it starts.  All at once, I have a desire to BEAT this storm.

By the time I get ready and step out the front door, light sprinkles are already falling.   

I can make it around the block, I tell myself.

Walking with an umbrella is a balancing act, but I open it anyway.  My Genium shouldn't get wet.  Spots of water dot the gray sidewalk.

A guy on a bike rides down the middle of the street, dark hair blowing – helmetless - in a t-shirt and jeans.  He’s carrying a cup of coffee in one hand; a bag slung over his opposite shoulder.  He’s oblivious to this light drizzle.  Unaware of how an oil slick (or a swerving driver) could cause his thin tires to skid out from under him.

There’s a tiny part of me that’s envious. 

But mostly, I see RISK written all over him.  He’s carefree now, but his life could change in one second.

I liked your comments about Do It Now, the slogan from the previous blog post.  I agree -- it is about Zen and Carpe Diem and finding joy in each moment.  But I've been thinking, and to me, there’s a corollary to it:

Do It Now because you never know what’s going to happen next.

Over the past two years, I’ve been caught unaware just a few times too many.

Doing It Now helps me feel more prepared.

It’s an illusion, of course.  Just because you’ve washed the dishes, and finished the laundry, and packed a bag, doesn’t mean you’ll be READY for a midnight trip to the ER.  But somehow, it's just a tad easier to face. 

If you know me, you know that the desire to be prepared runs deep in my blood.  (Even after 19 units of replacement blood, I haven't lost it!)   

It's genetic, I think.  In September 1969, when my mom went into labor with me, her first instinct was to clean the oven.  No kidding.  Her sister – my Aunt Candy – stood in the kitchen, arms crossed in panic. “Don’t you think we should go to the hospital?!” she cried.

Well, like mother like daughter.  Mom was just fitting in one last thing before that storm -- a.k.a. ME!

This week, I walked between the raindrops, stealing a stroll whenever I could.  Block after block without straying far from my house or parked car.

I watched the clouds darken till I couldn't tell the difference between the buildings and the sky.  

But there were lighter moments, too.  After a doctor's appointment, I met up with friend Deb for a quick chai.


And later as the sky opened up, I ducked into Garces Trading Company with Shawn.


When the sun finally returned, I walked (and talked) “long distance” with Bosco in Delaware, Marla in Illinois, and Brett in Arizona.

Cousin Brett's cameo
"appearance"!

I guess when your life’s yanked out from under you, it's only natural to try to fasten it securely in place.  Batten down the hatches for next time.  Build an ark BEFORE the rain comes.

After all, even the lightest drizzle could turn into a hurricane.  Or worse. 

But these past few miles, I was surprised to discover there's life DURING the rain, too.

And AFTER.