Tears from Heaven

The rain always brings me down. But at the same time, it allows me to reflect and write. Today's rain made me remember an event long ago and I had to capture the moment now. Like most of my memories, as the years go by, they are being washed down the stream of life; a distant thought that will travel like water, through the fingers of time and be lost forever.

When I was young, I used to sit in the bay window of our home to watch the 'tears come down from heaven.' My mother would try to soothe me by turning the bad weather into an idea that was less terrifying to me.

"Why is God crying? Does he get sad too?" I asked. My mother smiled thoughtfully, trying to come up with an answer to my philosophical question.

"God is not crying, the clouds are. He is squeezing the water out of them so they are dry the next day for the sun." I didn't buy it.

The thunder always scared and titillated me at the same time. There was something about inclement weather that excited me insofar that my emotions became intertwined and the end result was a euphoric feeling that I could not put my finger on. Until today, thunderstorms awaken some raw being inside of me. I always watched from the inside looking out, but that day, I wanted to be a part of Nature--to be outside and experiencing the rain.

I ran downstairs and opened the door that led to the garage. My shiny bike was beckoning me. I turned around and went back to grab my rainboots and jacket. My parents were no where in sight. Freedom.

I tugged at the handle of the garage door and let it swing open. The rain was coming down hard. I felt the mist and dewy smell absorb into my senses. Hugging myself with pure joy, I jumped on my bike and hesitated, sitting between the garage and the opening of the sky. And then I heard it. The deep rumbling of a male voice, just steps behind me. At first, I mistook it as thunder. My father's voice was undeniable.

"Where do you think you are going?" he demanded. I turned ever so slightly to see him standing with his arms folded. Caught.

My foot was ready, on the pedal. It only needed one push. I felt my hands tighten on the handlebars. I could hear my heart beating in my ears. I pondered my options. What could he really do if I drove out into the rain? I judged the distance from where he stood to my current position. I smiled.

"I am going into the tears of heaven!" I exclaimed and pushed off on my bike into the rain. Summer rain had to be the most glorious weather to be caught in. It was cool in the damp air and my hair was soaked immediately. As I whipped down the sidewalk, I glanced sideways to see my father standing at the opening of the garage, with his hands on his hips. He was not happy.

I splashed through puddles, drenched until my clothes stuck to my skin, laughing and speeding down the street, while letting the heavens cry upon me. The clouds were dark, foreboding and I waited to be sucked up into the sky. And then it thundered. I felt the crack rip through my entire body and it sent me to a screeching halt. I stood helplessly alone in the middle of the street and became utterly terrified. There was no one. Not a soul. Not even a car driving by. The second clap of thunder was more severe.

And then I began to cry. What a stupid idea, I said to myself. Immobilized with fear and a sudden urge to pee, I remained in the same spot for five minutes. I hugged my bike with the sinking feeling that the end was near. Suddenly, I felt someone grab my arm. I thought it was God. He had come for me--and now was taking me up to heaven!

Turns out God looked very much like my father. He was standing with his black umbrella and beige trenchcoat. His expression was stern however, I could have been mistaken. And as I shivered in the cold, with the rain falling on my head and the water dripping off my nose, scared out of my wits, praying out loud for God not to strike me with lightning, it was unmistaken. My father's eyes were smiling.

He held the umbrella over my head while I cried and cycled back slowly, under his shelter. The garage had been left open so I glided back in with a rush. My strong father grabbed the garage handle and pushed the door in. I got off my bike but it took me several attempts to bring down the kickstand. I was shaking like a leaf. He put his warm hand on my shoulder and guided me back indoors.
Protected.

"How were the tears from heaven?" he asked as he took a towel and wrapped it around my entire body. I was not facing him, guilt-ridden from my impetuous joy ride.

"Oh, I don't know, Daddy! There was so much water I don't know if they were God's tears or my own!"

Since I was facing the opposite direction, I did not know if the shaking was from my father drying me off or from his uncontrollable laughter.

PS My mother told me many years later that although he felt bad about my whole experience in the rain, my line about the tears was a joke he proudly shared countless times with their friends in social gatherings...