Bluer skies

“I got wet in the rain today”,  Miss A tells me casually as I am setting the table for dinner.

“Awww, A, you know you are not supposed to be playing in the rain”, I start.

“It wasn’t raining when I started to play hide and seek with Emma and Charlie…”

“Sweety, you cannot wander about in the storm. You need to stay indoors”

“But I did!!!”

“Huh? Then how did you get wet?”

“Mrs G saw us”. Mrs G is the headmistress. Miss A holds her in high esteem. She is right up there with the things A loves dearly. Currently Mrs G is in A’s ‘much loved people’  line-up alongside the family, the Simpsons and the mental guinea pig and a hideous doll called Bubby. But I digress.

“And she opened her office door and asked us to come in”

“Awww”

“And it was raining and the storm was bad. Like really bad. So she made us sit down next to the fire”

This little child, playing in the rain. This little child hoping to win at hide and seek. This little child, next to a warm fire. Love makes you want to be more than anything you ever will be  – love has taught me this. I want to be there for her, kindling a fire, offering warm clothes, shutting the windows, keeping the storm at bay. And when I cannot be, the guilt runs deep.

“And Mrs G made sure we didn’t step out till the rains had stopped”

“Awww”  Extreme love sometimes renders me incapable of saner responses.

“And then she patted my head and said ‘Oh dear, A, your hair is wet. Stay here till you dry, please””

Every mother’s biggest worry is that she won’t be around to keep her child warm from a storm.

“That was nice of her, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, Mrs G is very lovely. I want to visit her at home!”

“Umm, yeah, we don’t have any reason to visit her, A. Plus she is a busy person. And it is raining!”

This piece of advice is accepted for the time being.

“Anyways the fire dried me. And then the rain had stopped. So, we walked back to class.”

“Did you thank Mrs G for having you? For opening her office door for you?”

“No, I wanted to. But she had disappeared. For a meeting. But she asked us to hang around till we were warm. Like magic. She was so quick. Mrs G is very quick. She is quicker than our guinea pig!”  You must know, dear readers, that most things are faster than the guinea pig. But all comparisons with the guinea pig are supposed to be flattering and generous – so we will let that slide.

I cannot be there for Miss A, every single moment of every single day. A part of me knows this. Someday there will be a storm when I am not around. I know this too. A long time ago I wished for the skies to be forever blue. For clear starry nights and bright, warm days, for endless mirth. I now know that the tempests will visit us every once in a while. That storms, even though they are passing visitors, do rest near us for a while.  I have changed my wish these-a-days. None of us have the power to wish for eternal sunshine and bright nights – and therefore my only wish is that she finds a warming fire and an open door when the rains threaten to dampen her plans. All I want is for someone to be looking out for her when the clouds rumble.

Because to be forever sheltered would mean no journey. No nooks for hide and seek. No unabashed blue skies when the rain does a runner. Hurt and joy are a combined cycle and therefore it is better this way.  Plus, the skies always look brighter after a shower.