Shawn thought he was done for the weekend. Quiet day. Cool, "feels like it's in the 80s" evening, he said when the rains came after a nice little Sunday night pizza party for dinner. Then Shana came running. There was water streaming down into her room through a light fixture on the ceiling. As I screamed, "Don't turn it on," Shawn headed for the roof. In the rain. In the dark. And it was lightening. Lots of lightening.
See, we have this pine tree. Starting out as a two foot cute little Christmas tree in a pot gift years ago that we plopped in the ground, not giving it much hope, it now wreaks havoc on our roof, blanketing the flat part with pine needles, clogging up the drainage thingies and forcing water inside our walls. So, besides thoughts of cutting it down in the middle of the storm, I thought about Shawn, trudging around above me, standing in several inches of water, holding a metal flashlight as the sky kept lighting up. I thought about one of his patients telling him last week about two of her relatives sitting outside in Northern Arizona a couple of weeks ago during a storm. One is now permanently in a wheelchair after getting hit by lightening. Her father died from the same strike. I ran out there with an umbrella, jumping up and down, making everything worse, standing right by the pool, then figured maybe we both shouldn't be such risk takers, not on the same night, at least. He yelled for a broom and dust pan. I heard more trudging. My heart was racing. Life insurance crossed my mind. Worried. Mad. But sort of relieved that somebody was up there taking care of business. Smart? Stupid? Some kind of one-track minded, time for Wapner, Rain Man? Shawn finally appeared inside. Wet, crazy, all he-man, safe. And then the water stopped in Shana's room.