Teardrops from Heaven

Teardrops from Heaven

Drop, drop, drop
Drizzle, drizzle
The rain came down
little by little
the rain was there
but then it went away
but the sadness
In my heart
would not go away
        Being eight years old, I thought I knew all about life.  Little did I know that the fourteen of October 1984 everything would all change.  Sitting in the far corner of the small but modern living room, on the floor between the couch and the end table, dumbfounded at what my uncles had just said.  What I knew would eventually happen, in fact did happen.  All the time I put forth into preparing for it turned out to be useless, because at this point it didn't help me either way.  It’s hard to believe that it only took a few seconds to turn my whole life upside down and with only a few short words.  She died.

            The whole room filled with my close relatives, turned cold and emotionally unstable:  Those who knew her all her life and those who didn't burst into tears.  I sat in the corner staring out the window watching the raindrops as they fell on the porch, not speaking a word.  The burden that the news created amounted to, too much for me to handle, so I blocked the words out of my mind.  Never in my life did I feel so alone and empty.   

            My nine-year-old brother sobbed uncontrollably within the loving arms of his aunt.  He couldn't understand and she couldn't explain why his mommy died.  Endless questions came, without satisfying answers to what he needed to know.  Tears rolling down my sister’s face as she grabbed for the box of Kleenex that lay on the table, she wiped her eyes and her nose, then proceeded to run out the back door.  My uncle seeing this ran out after her to comfort her, after the terrible loss that had just taken place.

            Although everyone tried to be supportive no one knew exactly what to say to us, afraid of making us more upset they spoke little.  I never moved the whole time this went on, not even shedding a tear.  Incapable of crying in front of anyone, I sat dry eyed and quiet.  No way could this eight-year-old let anyone see her true feelings.  The thought of what others would think of me as a crybaby or as weak frightened me.  Losing my mother never crossed my mind.  I guess I believed it would never happen, at least not so soon.  Frankly I felt alone and afraid, lost without a purpose to exist, because the one person I loved the most in the world died.  It hurt me so much and I honestly believed that there couldn't be anyone around who experienced what I did.  Even though my brother and sister felt the same pain and hurt that I did.

            I didn't know whom I could rely on now.  In all the years before this occurred, I depended on my mother, a mommy's girl you could say, yet what happens when mommy dies?  I wasn’t mommy’s little girl anymore and that made me feel empty inside.     

            One by one family members decided to start the journey home.  Most of my cousins left first, for them they needed to get back to their normal lives, even though the lives of us three would be changed forever.  Friends had gone by now also, leaving only their condolences and prayers.  The room now filled with many different types of flowers made it smell like summer, except the season among us happened to be fall.

            Fall brought the rain.  The rain left the puddles that made each raindrop dance around.  Only I didn’t feel like dancing or stomping in the puddles.  As I watched the rain from the window, I wondered how could a God that created so many beautiful things be so cruel to take my mother?  What purpose did he have for her?  I needed her more.  She was mine.  Who would tuck me in at night?  Who would hug me?  Who would cry with me?  Who would love me?  I knew the answers.  I knew I wasn’t alone.  I knew it wasn’t God’s fault.  I knew she was in a better place.  She was peaceful and finally at rest.  But I didn’t want to admit the truth right then.  Because to admit it meant I had to let go of a piece of her and I wasn’t ready for that.  I wanted the rain to wash everything away.  I didn’t want to feel the anger, hurt, frustration, or loneliness.  All I wanted to feel was the rain.

            It was like the pitter pattering of little feet.  I stepped out the front door, the rain immediately soaking my hair and turning my new dress into a mess.  The news encompassed my brain, going round and round like a tilt-a-whirl.  Nothing I hummed or screamed made the words go away.  I didn’t want to hear them.  I didn’t want to know what they meant.  I felt a piece of me was slipping away and I couldn’t even cry.  Each drop of rain felt to me as if it were its own being, one landing on my nose, another on my shoulder, and another on my foot.  The rain knew my pain, the more I hurt the harder it fell.  As I walked along I never noticed the dampness or the cold, only the touch of each drop as it fell upon my skin.  To me the rain wasn’t just rain, it was much more than that.  It was like teardrops from heaven.  These tears were of comfort to me, encompassing me in this warmth of love and understanding that could only be from the father.  For when I couldn’t let myself cry, that burden was taken from me.

Copyright 2000

Thank you for taking the time to read my story.