The Rain of Hope

 Leah stood in the doorway, arms folded protectively over her shattered heart. The relentless sun was in no way a reflection of her constant mood. She knew as soon as she opened the door, the radiating heat would take her breath away. Today marked sixty days since he’d left her. It marked the end of the time period she’d given herself to feel the feelings, shed the tears, get her act together. Sixty days of being alone in the house, cooking for one, carefully avoiding his side of the bed. She’d read all the books, heard all the advice, tried to comply. None of it prepared her for the crushing, paralyzing grief. Watch for signs, they’d said. He’ll show you he’s around. There had been no signs. Just immobilizing grief and the oven in which she was currently living.

Heat shimmered on the street and not so much as a blade of grass moved. The air was still, sticky, sickening. It had been weeks since the area had any moisture. The world was drying up, roasting in the intense, outdoor oven. This horrible heat wave had stymied the whole community. Leah had not seen a neighbor in days. Usually, folks were on their porches sipping cold beers or iced tea, mowing lawns, kids shooting hoops. There had been no movement on the street since the temperature had hovered over 103 degrees for nearly two weeks. No one to wave to, smile at, shout a little hello. She was alone with her grief and forced to feel.

It was weird, this heat. Today was cloudy, sun peaking in and out, which made her think that the heat might abate. So far, the temperature held steady. She heard her air conditioner cranking, doing its very best to keep her house cool. Her mind played a constant reel. They would be eating pizza and staying hydrated with gin and squirt. They’d be watching movies, playing cards, sneaking out at night to skinny dip in the pool, which was more like a hot tub now, but it wouldn’t matter. They would sleep soundly under the fan and get up the next day and do it all again. That’s what they would do when the midsummer heat began its relentless assault on them.

At least those were the plans. Those, ‘after we retire’ plans. So close. Another year or so and they’d both have been free of jobs and free to spend their time doing whatever the heck they wanted. And then he died. Just like that, and she’d given herself sixty days to get over it and get on with life. This thought drew a smirk to her lips. Her go-to healing process, she had decided, would be hiking, being outdoors, letting the sadness blow away with the wind. Then the oppressive heat descended, and her plan melted like the citronella candles on her porch, now cloudy liquid with the dead bodies of many bugs floating, helpless. The pool was a putrid green, so she closed the blinds. Out of sight, out of mind.

Leah turned from the door and studied the house. From her vantage point she could see a week’s worth of chores piled up in the kitchen and dining room table. Empty wine glasses filled the sink. She couldn’t remember the last time she ran the dishwasher or ate a proper meal. Tissues littered the floor around her chair. She made a half-hearted attempt to pick one up and sighed. What was the use? She’d be in the chair weeping again any time now. Instead, she made a cup of coffee and waited while it brewed, feeling nothing inside. She was empty. She’d been a fool. Sixty days. She couldn’t see an end in sight. Could not muster the energy to even contemplate it.

She thought a lot about death, remembering her mom telling her that it wasn’t so scary as you get older. Death was no longer an enigma, and she had no fear. At times she thought she might even welcome death with open arms, just to see him again to feel him and love him. Then pictures of disembodied angels in her head made her wonder if you could feel anything in heaven. Were there hugs in heaven? Was there even a heaven? Was she losing her mind?

Tears brimmed her ever swollen eyes again as the coffee maker beeped its completion at her. She took the cup and headed toward her chair.

Do something else. Change things up. Make yourself better. You can do this.

But she sank into her chair and stared out the living room window, adding another tissue to the floor. She took a drink of the hot brew and appreciated the burning sensation as it flowed down her throat. It seemed appropriate. Everything was hot, why not her throat? She thought about playing some music, but music made her cry. She’d been trying to read the same book for weeks and had not gotten past page three. Leah sighed and pressed her eyes shut, squeezing out the last of this session’s hot tears.

When she opened her eyes, something caught her attention. What was that? She couldn’t figure it out. She stood up and opened the front door again, searching for something, but what? Then she saw it again. A dried-up leaf lying on the burnt grass moved, ever so slightly. Leah glanced up into the tree and saw a gentle swaying of the brown leaves. The air had been so still for so many days that the thirsty tree held on to its dying leaves. But there it was again, the almost imperceptible movement.

It was a sign. Finally, the sign she’d been waiting for, sobbing for. She watched for more waves in the tree, but stillness seemed to be restored, and bitter disappointment washed over her and the dull ache that had lessened for a split second began to return. But that split second had awakened something that’d been asleep in her for sixty days. Now it was her choice to acknowledge it. Was it…hope?

I can sit here and rot or I can move forward. It’s up to me.

And the leaves swished again. And again. Leah felt a surge in her chest. Would she let that hope push to the surface?

Pick up the tissues. Run the dishwasher. Go check the mail.

Go check the mail. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d ventured out to retrieve that latest delivery of condolences and bills. She pushed the door open and stepped outside. The concrete on the porch was hot enough to cook an egg. She slipped into her flip flops and tried again. The sun hid behind a cloud, and she heard a faraway rumble accompanied by a flash. They always called it heat lightning, but she’d always wondered if it didn’t just mean that there was a storm somewhere else. There it was again.

A breeze blew her hair into her face. She turned to face it, letting the wind blow her hair out of her eyes. There was a change in the atmosphere. Her skin tingled and she felt in her heart that he was there. It was a sign. For the first time in sixty days, there were no tears. Just that glimmer of hope that was taking her by the hand and directing her into the middle of the yard. The wind picked up and she detected a slightly cooler breeze.

That was him. It had to be.

“Are you here? I know you’re here!”

A clap of thunder shook the dry and brittle earth. Doors opened up and down the street, each person emerging from his or her own cocoon of life’s problems. The storm moved closer, lightning now just over the hill, followed by another tremendous crash of thunder. Neighbors were waving and shouting to each other.

“Is this really happening?”

“Is the drought over?”

Their voices were drowned out by the continual roll of thunder.

Leah spread her arms and looked toward the sky, willing the rain to fall. To wash her grief away, to give her a starting point. Others followed suit and she wondered what they all wanted to be clean of.

The temperature dropped as the wind picked up. And then it happened. A drop of water fell from the sky and splatted on the ground at her feet. Dust puffed up around the drop and seemed to be reaching for more.

Leah shouted, “Don’t stop! Stay here!” She could feel the crack in her heart just beginning to heal.

And another drop fell, and another and the neighborhood cheered. And then they were dancing in the street and shrieking with joy.

Leah stood, feet planted on the still warm ground and let the rain pelt her face, her arms, her whole body. She could almost see her grief being diluted and hope grabbing hold. Her hair began to drip. She tilted her head upward and opened her mouth to taste the sweetest water. Steam rose off the concrete of the street and sidewalks. She noticed her closest neighbor jogging through the pouring rain toward her.

“We’re going to be fine,” she shouted as she grabbed Leah and twirled her around and finally pulled her in for a tight hug. “You’re going to be fine,” she whispered, as she let Leah go and danced off to the next neighbor.

The next morning the sun rose, and the heat returned, but the refreshed earth permeated into Leah’s soul. She opened the front door and for the first time in sixty-one days, she smiled and let her shoulders relax. Turning toward the mess, she knew what to do. One by one, she picked up the tissues, ran the dishwasher, and took a shower. The rain had washed away the seemingly impenetrable sadness and she knew that was going to be okay.