rain – Empty Chairs, Everywhere

“Every storm runs out of rain.” –Maya Angelou

Rainy days will always remind me of red galoshes, soggy socks, and Mom.

When I was an undergrad my Mother gifted me with a red raincoat and matching red boots. (Did I mention that red is my favorite color?) It was my third year of college and I had just entered the School of Journalism which meant I now had broadcasting classes and needed to be “camera-ready” at all times. (You can laugh at me! I’m laughing at myself, too.)

She ordered the set from a catalog and presented it to me before I returned for the spring semester. I’m definitely not a rain person. In fact, I basically hate the rain but I have to admit I was a little excited to wear this get-up when the first drops started to fall. I parked my car, pulled on the hood of my new raincoat, and began walking to class feeling fully protected from the weather. All was right in the world until I noticed that my socks were getting cold and wet. Not in the toes, but right around the back of my ankle. That’s odd I thought, but kept walking.

Before long, my socks were completely wet. Soaked really. I made a beeline for the restroom before class and realized that the rain was dripping off the back of my coat and right into my galoshes! The perfect trajectory. What were the chances? I had no choice but to take the boots off and empty the rainwater into the sink. I stuffed paper towels into them to absorb any excess water. Next, I rung out my socks and held them under the hand dryer. Finally, I hurried off to class.

I remember telling my Mom this story and how heartily she laughed at me and with me.

“But did your hair and make-up hold up?” she asked.

“Yes, Mom, they held up perfectly. Camera-ready,” I replied.

On my next visit home, she gifted me with an extra large red umbrella.

No one will ever love you as much as your Mother.

I will send down showers in season, there will be showers of blessings.

Ezekiel 34:26

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

“…my God, I thought, my whole life I’ve been under her raincoat thinking it was a marvel that I never got wet.” — The Raincoat, Ada Limon

Anyone who knows me knows that I am no fan of the rain. That steadfast pitter-patter on the window is sheer annoyance to me. I don’t mind cloudy days or thunderstorms, but slow steady rain drains my energy and tests my patience.

Rain=Melancholy

I’m in a rainy season now and when I came across Ada Limon’s poem, The Raincoat, it struck me in a way I wasn’t prepared for. Her account of a mother’s love for her child resonates with me as both a mother and a daughter. I know how much I love my own children and it’s overwhelming to think that I was once that child—the recipient of a mother’s unconditional love.

These days I feel more vulnerable. Exposed. No umbrella. No raincoat.

Without my mother, I feel the rain. I miss the shelter of a mother’s unconditional love. I miss the assurance that comes from her covering and protection.

Mostly, I miss her.

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.

Tag: rain

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