In Case of Rain

“…my God, I thought, my whole life I’ve been under her raincoat thinking it was a marvel that I never got wet.” — The Raincoat, Ada Limon

Anyone who knows me knows that I am no fan of the rain. That steadfast pitter-patter on the window is sheer annoyance to me. I don’t mind cloudy days or thunderstorms, but slow steady rain drains my energy and tests my patience.

Rain=Melancholy

I’m in a rainy season now and when I came across Ada Limon’s poem, The Raincoat, it struck me in a way I wasn’t prepared for. Her account of a mother’s love for her child resonates with me as both a mother and a daughter. I know how much I love my own children and it’s overwhelming to think that I was once that child—the recipient of a mother’s unconditional love.

These days I feel more vulnerable. Exposed. No umbrella. No raincoat.

Without my mother, I feel the rain. I miss the shelter of a mother’s unconditional love. I miss the assurance that comes from her covering and protection.

Mostly, I miss her.

Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.