Monday, April 16, 2012

Midnight Thunder and Music

The April showers of a few nights ago morphed into a thunderstorm. The booming thunder awakened me from a deep sleep. There’s something about the sound of thunder that leaves me feeling vulnerable, and a little sad. I turned over to look at my clock and it was flashing on and off, off and on.

Since I didn’t have to work the next morning, I didn’t bother to set the clock and just went back to sleep. Thunder boomed closer, and as I tossed in the other direction, I heard music.

Music? Where could that be coming from? I thought it might be my cell since I had left it in my purse, but the music kept playing. I couldn’t hear the tune well enough to tell what it was, but I knew there was no reason music would be playing in the middle of the night.

The sound of music was replaced with rolling thunder. As I listened, the storm got louder and louder, rain pelted against the window, and I forgot about the music.

I used to be scared of storms, and Jim would hold me close when thunder came in the night. He was fearless and tried to convince me there was no reason to be afraid. That argument never gave me comfort when tornado watches turned to warnings.

The downside of spring is the storms that have passed through my life. Our journey through the land of dementia ended on April 18, 2005 when Jim left this world. Death rolled through our lives with the force of a tornado leaving an aftermath of eerie stillness behind.

You would think with the devastating tornadoes last year, I would still be afraid. It was only the noise and not fear that kept me awake during the storm Thursday night. As the storm faded into the night, I once again heard the faint sound of music.

Okay, it was obvious that I wasn’t going to sleep until I figured out where the music was coming from. I got up out of bed and wandered through the house, following the sound. In the hallway, I recognized the melody: “Winter Wonderland.” A few more steps, and I knew it was Brad Paisley singing. I crossed the room and walked to over to the docking station and turned off my iPod. I had to smile at a Christmas song competing with a spring thunderstorm.

On my way back to bed, I tried to reason how the iPod started up on its own. So maybe a jolt of electricity triggered the on button.

Or maybe, there wasn’t a logical explanation and it was a message. A reminder that storms pass, and music can chase away the most ominous moods.

Copyright© April 2012 by L. S. Fisher  
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