We Will Rebuild

Here in Arizona, the monsoons are a frequent occurrence during the summer.
Often, they are precluded by the dust storms that roll in first.
These walls of dirt and dust roll in, with somewhat little notice, overtake the air and ground, and then move on - generally, but not always, followed by rains that clear the area and restore the upset.

It was after one of these storm combinations recently, that made me realize grief can be so very similar.

I had missed (fell asleep during) a recent storm.  I heard my phone buzz with the monsoon alert and promptly fell asleep. As conditions were ripe again the following day, I hoped and prayed I would be awake to witness Mother Nature in all her glory.
Be careful what you ask for.

Mother Nature, as I had hoped, did not disappoint. My phone again went off, I looked outside and saw the beginning of the sky turn the typical shade of hot chocolate brown. I got very excited and went outside to experience it. At this point, there was no rain and not much wind. I stood outside our apartment, looking out to the street and just soaking in the experience. Had my Dad still been here, we would have been the texting pictures and updates to each other, from our respective locations, what color the sky was, how fast the clouds were moving, etc.
 

I made fun of him for it, but I am my Father’s son.
In all honesty, we were/are both weather geeks and wannabe meteorologists.
He always hated the term “haboob” which is probably why I love saying it so much.

I stood outside and in those moments, I felt an amazing connection with my Dad during this time. As the dust wall rolled in, I felt a sense of peace come over me.
He was with me.

A few minutes later, I returned back inside our apartment and that’s when the gravity of the situation hit. I couldn’t call my Dad to share this moment with him. I couldn’t text him my pictures and compare his sky to mine. My Dad wasn’t here, and this monsoon had given me a tremendous trigger and caught me off guard. There were both inside my head and outside storms occurring that night.

I went to the computer to type some of my thoughts, and I began to cry hard.
I really miss my Dad.
 
I wrote this on his FB page an in effort to communicate with my Dad and talk to him:
 
I went outside and stood for a few minutes, admiring nature in all its glory. We would have been on the phone - texting pics, giving updates on the exact shade of brown and comparing weather radar apps.
For as much as I made fun of you for it, I am the exact same way.
I am a wannabe weather broadcaster, and
I am your son.
Standing outside before, I felt this sense of calm and peace come over me. Did you grant my wish to see a storm in person? I felt connected to you by watching outside, but it’s a double edged sword and is really making me miss you.
I’ve been able to survive without calling you before now, but this caught me off guard.
What a tremendous trigger.
I can only imagine the kind of breathing issues you’d be having with hot chocolate dust for air.
I love and miss you so much, Dad.
❤️💔
There is a running joke with a meme that goes around here with a picture of a fallen over patio chair captioned “WE WILL REBUILD.”

What’s that about when the student is ready, the teacher appears.
As I drove to work the next morning, is when the idea of the monsoon storm symbolizing grief popped into my head, and this blog entry was born.


It has taken me a few days to get time to express these thoughts in writing.

I wrote last night (now two days after the monsoon described above)
I’ve been in a terrible funk off and on for about the past week and a half or so...but in a moment of strength a few hours ago, I decided to listen to some voicemails I had saved from my Dad. I wasn’t sure what would happen emotionally, but I was thrilled to hear his voice and hear him say “I love you” or call me one of the many nicknames he had for me. I heard his sense of humor that I miss. I laughed. For a few brief shining moments, it was nice to hear. I’m so glad I had saved those and any email he sent me over the past few years, so that I have them for all time. Or as long as GMail and Google Voice let me. ❤️ It didn’t upset me, it gave me peace.

We will rebuild.
Indeed, I will.
I am rebuilding.