musings on a saturday night

Been kinda quiet of late.  Mainly working a lot, fretting a lot, and waiting on there to be a Spring here.  It's been an unusually cold and gloomy "spring" which is not a spring at all.  But, last weekend as I wandered a bit, tulips and trees were blooming, birds were singing, and there was a hint of sun peeking through.  It feels as though we may get a break from the gloom, which will lift spirits and smiles and hearts within this wonderful city.

Another place with spirit and heart is the state I call home.  In the year I've been here, I've seen my state in  national media more than I think my entire life.  It started with the gulf oil spill, with tar balls and oil-soaked marine life washing up on my beloved white beaches.  There followed stories of scandals and championship, then poisoned trees.  The terror of April 27th eclipsed all else.  The toll of lives and destruction continues to rise more than a week later.  People at work and in town ask if my family is okay, which warms my heart.  And it's good that I can answer yes, they are all good.  But my extended family, those others who call Alabama home, are not all good.  It's tragic beyond words.

For me, it started as I was leaving work on that Wednesday.  I had heard of storms that morning, and the chance of stronger storms late in the day.  Nothing unusual for Spring in Alabama, so I didn't give it a lot of thought as I immersed myself in work.  It was not until I was driving home that I heard about the  tornadoes.  I started trying to call people, not getting through to anyone, beginning to worry and wonder.  Finally heard from Lacy who told me power was out, then a brief message from Tine that they had been without power for several hours, but they were okay.  I was able to pick up bits and pieces from what spotty Facebook feeds people were still able to post from their phones, but even those started to wane as power still did not return and phones obviously starting dying.

Late that night a text from Jeff saying he had good info that power would be out for several days - 5 or more.  I thought it was an exaggeration, or that the utility was being overly cautious, but no, it was true.  My planned trip home for the weekend was suddenly in jeopardy - with no power, no gas, no food, would it be feasible for me to still go?  Would the airline even be going into an area with mass power outages?  Would I be more of a burden than a help, being another mouth to feed, needing transport, sitting in the dark with everyone else?  Adding to my despair was the lack of communication with Seth and Tine, who I would be staying with if I went.  I wanted so badly to go, to make sure they were okay, to see my 2-week old grandson.  Finally, I decided to cancel the trip - with a very heavy heart.

Sometime over the weekend, phone service was available long enough for Tine to send a picture of Seth and Lennon sleeping together on the sofa, both peaceful and poignant.  I stared at the picture for a long time, taking it in and imagining that I was there seeing it in person.  It was not until Sunday that I talked to Seth - they still had no power, but were getting along with their gas stove and lots of ice.  Lacy and Jeff had left town, opting for a weekend in Chattanooga rather than peer at each other through fading candlelight when they could no longer see to read, so I had been in touch with them.  It helped to talk to Seth and to know that they were holding up, albeit without hot showers or phones or computers or TV or artificial light.  I knew that those days of primitive skills involvement when the kids were younger would help them now.  Finally.

Well, slowly, things started to get back to as normal as they could.  Lacy and Jeff returned to town with coolers full of food and water and ice, and were lucky to have power return Sunday night.  They were then able to help those in need by cooking and distributing food in the hard hit area north of town, which happened to be about a mile from Seth and Tine's house.  The area of Anderson Hills was decimated, and it was way too close to my son and his family for anything near comfort.  They finally saw lights again on Tuesday, almost a week from when things went dark.

One of the first communications that I received from Tine was a picture of Lennon that I can't look at without crying.  It's the most pitiful sad face, with just a hint of tear in his eyes, a look of desperate want, peering at her camera.  The caption read "sad because you're not here".  Oh, break my poor heart!!!!  But I knew they were safe, and knowing that, I could take the heartbreak.  That and knowing that in three weeks I'll have another chance to get there and hold him and delight in his babyness and his daily discoveries of the world around him.

With power to post and text pictures, I'm glad for Tine's daily documentation of Lennon's growth, moods, accomplishments - laughing, raising his head, eyes wider and more attentive.  It's as close as I can be to actually being there.  I know that I will soon be there for real, and in the not too distant future, there for good.  I'll be part of his life and theirs, and Lacy's and Jeff's and the rest of my family once again, not from afar, but from aclose.  I'm happy that I have a wonderful connection with them all, which is so much more than some.  I'm thankful that none of us are mourning the loss of loved ones as so many are.  I'm at ease knowing they have homes and beds and food and necessities and each other.  I'm at peace in knowing that they know how much they are loved.  And I take such comfort in knowing that they love me, appreciate me, and want me in their lives.

That's the best Mother's Day gift of all - family that is truly family.  They are so much a part of me that they are nearly all of me.  But they do give me a little room for me to have a part for myself.