Disclaimer: In April I lost my grandmother to COVID, and this poem was something I felt that would best express how my biggest fears changed over time.
Thunderstorms
She was scared of thunderstorms.
She could not be tamed during a storm.
Pacing back and forth while holding her breath.
Longing for the winds to calm.
She was scared of thunderstorms.
Believing that storms were the worst things that could happen.
Shoes tied to get ready to run for safety at any moment.
Her fear was being in the path of destruction.
Waking up to nothing, or not waking up at all.
She was scared of thunderstorms.
Subconsciously, she always questioned what would she do in a time of crisis.
Her heart beat a little faster at the thought of a storm
Knowing that she would not be able to escape the eye of the storm unscathed.
She was scared of thunderstorms.
Sooner or later the skies darkened.
Her breathing slowed, her heart shattering with each second that passed.
Tears gaining momentum as the days approached.
She never questioned life’s intentions.
She never knew what fate was capable of.
Was she ever really scared of thunderstorms?
No.
In denial, she could not accept losing her loved one.
The words, “old age” comforted her pain although that was the distorted truth.
Believing that her loved one belonged above, she believed that she should not have suffered as she did.
Her last days, she grew weaker, until she surrendered.
With time, she healed.
She experienced pain and happiness at similar times.
Her heart grew with every tear that was shed.
Her faith blossomed with every prayer.
And finally, once she accepted her new beginning, the rain began to fall.
Now knowing that grief was the worst kind of pain of all,
She was no longer scared of thunderstorms.