The girls generally ride the bus home from school.
They get home at about 4:00, maybe a little earlier.
Not so long ago, I stood with my afternoon cup of coffee and stared out the large front bay window into our neighborhood. The sky had that weird greenish cast I associate with tornadoes, except there are few tornadoes here in Oregon. The air was heavy and still and anticipatory . . . something was coming.
Maybe 3:30 or so. I sat in the window and watched the sky and breathed the charged air and sipped my coffee and waited for the school bus.
Waited for whatever was coming to arrive.
I didn’t have to wait long.
A flash of lightning ripped across the greenish sky.
Another.
And then a series of bolts that happened outside of my view, but which illuminated sections of the suddenly darkened sky.
Hail began to fall.
So much hail that the houses across the street were obscured from my view.
More lightning, which lit the hail.
I gazed through the window into a surreal violent snowglobe.
Buzzzzzzz.
A text?
From Kallan: Mommy, it’s hailing! Look outside!
Buzzzzzz.
And then from Maj: Did you see the lightning?
I answered them both as the hail pelted the world and the sky flashed and dulled: I know! Very cool! Such weird weather!
From Kallan: The bus driver is driving really slow.
And then from Maj: I told Kallan the bus driver is going slow to be safe.
I texted back: Good. I’m glad she’s being careful.
Another bolt of lightning ripped apart the sky.
From Kallan: What are we having for dinner?
From Maj: Are the dogs scared?
I texted Kallan that we were having spaghetti, and I texted Maj that the dogs were hiding in the basement.
And then I carried on a three-sided text conversation with the two of them for the duration of the school bus ride home. About plans for the weekend and where Kallan’s sweater might be and when Maj’s library books were due.
A note here . . .
Maj and Kallan rarely text me.
They certainly don’t text me from the school bus.
Both girls texting me at the same time from the school bus? In front of their friends? The hail and lightning must have freaked them out a bit.
Awwwww.
My heart swelled at the thought of them, nervous and upset, both reaching out for me.
I texted them both: You almost home?
Maj answered: Yes. And the hail is stopping!
The big yellow-orange bus rolled up the street.
There were my daughters, excited and happy and scooping up handfuls of hail as they made their way to the house.
The moment had passed.
Neither of them mentioned the texting, and so I didn’t either.
I just held that moment close . . . my two big girls scared by lightning and hail, checking in for reassurance from Mom as they rode the bus home through the storm.
And then weeks later, there is this . . .
Kallan stares out the window at the sky, “You think it’s going to hail, Mom?”
“Never know.”
Maj looks up from her book, “Remember that one day on the bus, Kallan?”
Kallan turns solemn, “That day everyone was screaming that we were going to die?”
Wait . . . what?
I listen as Maj and Kallan tell me the story.
A story of the sky in front of the bus being rent by lightning. Of the screaming of children who feared the lightning would hit the bus. Of the boy who screamed that they were all going to die. Of the other children who took up the terrified wailing chant. Of the bus driver’s angry voice informing them that the bus had rubber tires that would protect them from lightning. Of the screaming that ensued as the children took her words to be a statement that lightning was indeed going to hit the bus. Of the demands for quiet. Of the bus driver yelling that no one was going to die . . . and of how her words were lost in the sudden pounding sound of hail on the metal rooftop. Of the flashes of light. Of the bus driver slowing to a crawl as the road filled with ice and the world disappeared and the hail beat upon the roof. Of the bus driver screaming at everyone to be quiet. Of the boy who picked up his phone and called his parents (or claimed to call his parents), leaving a hysterical message that he was going to die.
Of how the girls weren’t sure how much of the panic was real and how much was drama for the sake of drama.
So they texted me.
Tucked down into their seat together, they texted me.
Texted me against the backdrop of screams and terror and the pounding of hail and the flashing of lightning and the demands for silence and the threats of death.
Sigh.
I looked back at our texts today as I prepared to write this post.
Their words.
Words of sweaters and dinner plans and library books.
I am always struck by the limits of words.
How their meaning can be hidden.
In the white spaces between.
awww. I was texting my dad about baseball from the hospital waiting room last time I had to get blood drawn. Less dramatic than lightning-lit snow globes but still scary for a faux-grown-up.
MKP -
Sigh.
I knew they were reaching for reassurance, but I didn’t know there was more to it than just the weather. So hard, sometimes, to imagine them out there in the world . . . trying to negotiate their way. Hmmph.
So happy they reached for me.
I hope that I am always here.
Me
How very sweet. And so true. I love the end. Great post.
Awww.
Thank you, babe.
Oh. . .
This has touched my heart and made me cry.
To reach out in a time of need. . .
Sigh.
I am emotional today.
Awww, you.
Sorry to have hit you on a vulnerable day.
Love to you, Stasha.
Me
Please, please don’t be sorry. The tears will hopefully help heal.
Hopefully.
Also?
When Randall was so very badly ill and we spent every other week in the ER? I would text my Mom for support.
Even though she was across the country I felt like she was there with me.
Comfort when I needed it.
Stasha -
I have never been a texter.
Not until recently.
But moments like this make me happy it is available.
A way for the girls to reach for me.
And a way for me to be there for them.
Even without complete information.
Comfort.
Me
Sweet and wonderful they reached out to you but if you’re like me, your heart broke a little at the thought of them being scared, away from you, even for a second. I don’t think I empathize with anyone stronger than my children. I hate the thought of them suffering or struggling or hurting, physically or otherwise at anytime.
Yay for cell phones.
Yes, of course my heart hurt for their fear . . . even when I thought their only fear was of the flash of light and the icy roads.
Of course.
And yes . . . in moments like this, I am very happy they have cell phones and a way to reach for me.
Very happy.
Kris
Kris,
I’ve been caught in hail like that. And even as a mid-teen, it was beyond terrifying. And SO LOUD. AND UNENDING.
Unless there is an overpass to duck under, there is nothing you can do.
At least until texting was invented.
While reading this, I wondered if the girls were sitting side by side, huddled together for sisterly support, but with each maintaining a “direct reporting line” to Mom.
Awwwww indeed.
Bill
Bill -
I asked them about that, because they don’t generally sit together on the bus. Maj is older and gets to sit in the “big-kid” section at the rear of the bus. Maj cherishes this privilege, and never sits with Kallan.
But yes.
On this day, Maj went and sat with Kallan.
And they texted with me as they sat next to one another.
Awwwwww.
I know.
Kris
Always good when helping the younger sibling makes you feel safer too.
Karen -
That touched me, though.
Maj so rarely plays the role of comforter.
Happy sighs.
Me
Wow, Kris. What a connection between you and your girls. Even with all the limits on words, you manage to make more out of the ones you use. I always seem to find myself right in the story, as if I was there. This one had me filled with mom tears.
Carrie -
So delighted to have brought you into the story with me.
That is amazing.
Such a huge compliment.
Thank you, babe.
Kris
You are the awesome. Very touching and I’m glad everyone was safe. It’s amazing how what reassures us most are not words of reassurance, exactly.
I am the awesome?
Oh, I do like that.
Thank you, Michael.
I LOVE this. For so many reasons. A favorite.
During moments like this; I really feel like Mom. In such a precious way.
This title is the best. The use of the color white to ‘describe’ different elements is awesome.
I’m going to read this one again too.
Robin -
Yes, that’s perfect . . . I really feel like a mom in moments like this. In a precious way.
That’s just perfect.
Me
Moms are the best. Well, you are…and mine is…and I hope that I am to my boys…
Much love
Sam -
I love being a mom.
More than anything else I have ever done, I love being a mom.
Love to you as well.
Me
I love this. All I can say is ‘Aww…’
Sister love, it’s beautiful.
(I love, and miss, a good thunderstorm – Sydney weather is definitely more exciting than LA weather – and your description gave me a little thrill to read. You captured it so well.)
Madeleine -
My daughters are so often at odds. I love that they turned to one another in this moment.
Happy sighs.
As for the weather?
I love the weather up here!
I love storms.
And waiting for their arrival.
Love that.
Kris
That’s one of my favourite things about a storm – seeing it in the distance, feeling the air change, wondering just how big it’ll be. Knowing the relief it will bring after a stinking hot day, and feeling those first big, fat rain drops fall.
Lucky you!
Madeleine -
It rains a lot here in Oregon, and much of the rain arrives without fanfare.
But the approach of a real storm?
Oh, I do like that.
Very much.
Yes . . . lucky me.
I’m always reaching out for my mom. All the new, hard, adult things… I reach for her. I think I would be lost without her.
I need to find a way to keep her around forever.
Haven -
The thought that I will not always be here for the girls?
ACK.
Yes, I will need to stay around forever as well.
Sigh.
I love the white spaces. This post will be in my brain when we decide to get our kids cell phones.
Thanks you!
Thanks, you.
I thought the same thing as I looked back at our innocuous conversation and realized what laid between the words.
In the spaces.
So happy they had that way to reach out.
Happy that they could text me.
Yes.
Beautiful.
You really love those girls, and they, you. Sigh.
And thank goodness for technology.
Alison -
I do love these daughters of mine.
More than anything else in the world.
(Although Mark is right up there as well . . . ahem)
Happy sighs.
Me
There’s so much in this post.
Waiting and worrying, comfort and connection, communication and it’s breakdown, fucking hail!
We had six tornado touchdowns in western and central (near where my parents live) MA last night. Way scary night. Hail in the morning, wicked electrical storms all evening…
And I was in touch with my Mom via cell phone quite a lot.
Cameron -
Oh, how much do I love that you were in touch with your mom during the storms?
SO FUCKING MUCH.
Swoon!
I love that.
Kris
I mean this without a touch of irony. She is my best friend–has been for a long time.
I call her every night on my way home from work.
I used to talk to my mother every day.
Every day.
Things change.
Sigh.
I find this so touching, not the child freaking out part (btw – that would probably be my daughter as she really deserves the nickname Susan Lucci Jr) but that they texted you for comfort… I would have never gotten that from my Mom, never had the knowledge that I could get that kind of comfort from my mother but am in awe of it.
Just awwww.
M
Mishelle -
There are some huge drama queens (and kings) on the girls’ school bus, and they apparently leaped on this scary moment to take the tension and emotion to that next shrill level.
Contagious, that frenzy.
That the girls reached for me?
Awwwww.
My heart just melts.
Kris