Yesterday was tense. Last night, even more so. Tornadoes and storms swept across the southern region of the US, leaving devastation and death in their wake. In my little neck of the woods, it was a day of darkening skies and flickering power surges.
And waiting. And bracing.
Just before dinner I inched my vehicle under our back deck, where I’ve never managed to park it before – hoping to avoid the effects of hail or a hapless limb if it came down in the driveway. Or worse.
But more than that? There was little I could do. When disaster is building momentum on a grand scale, you hold your breath, you whisper to your gods, you gather your children and hope for the best.
I couldn’t help but think of my marriage, or any relationship when it spirals out of control. I thought of abuse and addiction. I thought of warning signs, noticed but unheeded. I thought of our fragility in contrast to nature’s ferocious power. I listened to the wind and watched the trees behind my house as they bent precariously.
And I felt very, very small.
Love and Other Afflictions
We may not be able to outrun tornadoes, but when bad winds brew in relationships, paying attention may avert disaster. So why do we turn away when we see problems in our communication styles, our bedroom behaviors, our divergent belief systems?
Some years back I fell in love, built a thoughtful and balanced relationship with a good man, but ignored an obvious dilemma. The bond was strong, our values in sync, he was good to my children. But libido levels?
Night and day.
I was 40-something at the time, and at first I thought I could live with the difference. Fortunately, I lost my own argument and eventually ended the relationship, one that would have left me wanting in an arena that I consider vital to emotional intimacy. But for months I knew what likely lay ahead and I didn’t budge. I thought love – and sticking it out – would see me through.
This is precisely how I behaved throughout my marriage – hanging tough, ignoring signs, trying to stay positive, looking away – convinced that it would be enough.
I was wrong.
Warnings and Windows
Yesterday afternoon, I spoke with a friend who was hit in the first wave of the storm; damage was sustained to her vehicle, but not her home or her family. Last night I talked on the phone multiple times with a friend who was right in the path of two waves of storm. He is unhurt, but nearby, there are people still trapped in their homes.
As for our household, while thunderstorms taunted the neighborhood, this morning’s inspection left me feeling immeasurably grateful. My heart goes out to those who have lost loved ones in yesterday’s devastating storms.
We have warnings we heed and others in which no preparation is sufficient. All we can do is take cover. We have windows of opportunity that allow us to assess a situation – marriage, relationship, health, work – and possibly find a path to higher ground without abandoning everything or everyone we love.
Why we stay and why we go remains a mystery. Perhaps it’s the blue of the sky and the sweet smell in the air the morning after. The calm after the storm, promoting denial.
Perhaps it is our desire to build, and when necessary, to build again.
© D A Wolf
I’m relieved you’re all right, BLW. The storms have been relentless across the country; I keep hearing about waves on top of waves.
As for storm warnings of a more metaphorical sort, the signs can be hard to read when we’re inexperienced. We learn, though. The other side of it is knowing when we’ve become oversensitized to the point that we see signs where they don’t have to be so ominous. I’m working on both aspects of the sky-reading spectrum, so to speak. All I can say is that it’s not an easy balance to find.
And as I sit at my keyboard, extraordinarily grateful that the storm’s path missed us, I continue to text friends who were less lucky. They’re fine – but not without major cleanup, still no power, and worse. Perhaps I go to the metaphorical because it is easier to deal with than the devastation, all too close…
Oversensitized to the signs. That makes sense, CT. And no, it certainly isn’t an easy balance.
I thought of you during the storm’s march across the south, and am very glad you are okay. I wished I could gather my loved ones, but they are scattered across the southern states and all I could do was wait and pray. Fortunately, the worst of it was north of Army Wife/Guy and Peanut. The Floridian usually responds with “what storm?” when asked if she’s okay. It’s best to heed those storm warnings… of all kinds.
Counting my blessings, for many things. . . Glad Army Wife/Guy & Peanut are fine. (And yes, with families spread across the country and sometimes the globe, worries abound.)
I stopped asking the why questions long ago. I just got word that my friend, whom we were told was cancer-free three weeks ago, now has to undergo brain radiation. She doesn’t deserve that. Sometimes, life just sucks.
Having said that, how we deal with the bad crap, being able to at least thrive despite any bitterness or anger, now that says a lot about a person!
How awful, April.
The “asking why” – it’s very human. Yes, to the way we deal with things, hopefully with as much grace as we can muster.
I’m glad you’re doing ok BLW. It’s definitely prudent to listen to warnings, at least it can be a pathway to preparation.
How ironical (or logical, if you will) of Mother Nature (or evolution, if you will). The sexual “X” factor, in which women ending the child-bearing years show a steady increase in libido, while older men (now becoming less likely to survive as healthy long-term fathers) show a steady decrease. Big individual differences, of course. I’ve seen women with incredible sex drive… “The most important thing in the world”… fall off the wall and say… “I don’t have any desire to ever make love again.” If a solid love relationship has already been established, alternative approaches are possible, but this may pose difficulty. That is because for many, it is not just a lack of capacity for sex, it is a lack of capacity for intimacy. And that is fatal.