What is eerie about spring storms in the Midwest is the calm that is left after they blow through: a soft rain and wet streets shimmering under the street lights; the sound of crickets; a gentle breeze that gently swings the blinds back and forth against the pane, its plastic tip-tap-tapping.
While the house was left intact, the emotional damage was devastating. In that two-hour span of time, I faced death and cowered in fear, my only refuge a green metal ironing board and some rope attached to nothing. I was not comforted by the idea of meeting my Creator or His Son or His Mother, for that matter. I questioned why we were only born to die and what the purpose was of being born at all if heaven was so great and our ultimate destiny. The internal fire of anger, guilt and confusion from these burning questions still smolders.