Rain

I remember the rain, the storm that raged outside my window. It wasn't long after your death when I woke to the screaming thunder, I jumped up, my face staring into the rain. I cried, my tears falling like rain drops, I believed you were drowning. I imagined your little body drenched, the water seeping in, surrounding you like when you were in my womb. Daddy had to drag me back to bed, I cried out, wailing. Why? Why did the rain have to come? Instead of holding you in my arms, comforting your little cries from the thunder, I was trapped in my own fears. Like a child I hid under the blanket, wishing it would go away, hoping to open my arms and be holding you. I've never felt a need to protect that strong...I wanted to find a shovel, I wanted to use my hands and dig away the wet dirt. I wanted to open your tiny coffin, in my mind you would be alive by some miracle. I would take you home....instead you are dead...seventy something days are passed. The rain still comes sometimes, it makes me crazy, it makes me insane with a longing to be at your side. My son...are your tears in the rain? Are the thousands of droplets beating against the ground tears of angels? Do you mourn too, held and rocked by God himself?