A plunk. A plonk. A rat-a-tat-tat. A roar.
I sit in the Explorer and listen to the different rhythms, the different melodies, sorting through the different emotions rain brings to the surface. I watch raindrops land on the windshield, watch them pause, descend, combine into rivulets striping the glass. Some hold their positions, awaiting fresh drops to nudge them downward.
My emotions are as varied as the irregularity of the rain’s descent. At this moment they are calm. I have no idea how they will be ten minutes from now.
Travis Tritt is on the stereo, singing “I Can’t Seem to Get Over You.” For me, it is “I will never get over you,” for Greg is so much a part of me that I don’t believe I will ever get over him. Next on my mix is “Nothing Short of Dying.” I don’t know if Travis realized just how correct “that’s worse than being left alone” really is.
I threw some Bocephus in this mix -- “Old Habits.” Habits that have been with me for two-thirds of my life, embedded in my heart, may never disappear. Habits like listening for Greg’s truck coming down the driveway mid-afternoon on a Saturday. Awaiting his arrival home after a day of deer hunting, worrying if he’s not home soon after dark falls. Millions of little habits. Millions of memories that I will always have deep in my spirit.
The rain has become a light mist, making it easier to see what is around me, and I sit quietly, letting God’s handiwork soothe my soul. If the temperature was a few degrees warmer, I would enjoy walking in this mist until it soaked through my clothing.
That is something that Greg did not enjoy -- walking in the rain. I wonder if there is anyone who would enjoy walking in the rain with me.
Perchance, some rainy day, I may know.
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