And now, this evening, it is quiet outside, and we have escaped relatively unscathed, but I know that many others are not so lucky. I am grateful for our cozy house, for the electricity that powers this computer, for all the good food we have on hand to nourish us with or without electricity, for the care and concern of loved ones near and far.
And I am in awe of the power of the storm, of the wind, of the waves, and of the rain.
October 29, 2010, was Halia's due date. Today I think of her often and of the storms of losing her. First there was the storm of the chronic placental abruption that pummeled my health and ultimately killed her. And then there was the storm of grief. Periodic squalls still come through. It has all been such an exercise in surrender to that which I do not control, of finding places of shelter amidst the storms, and of learning to ride it out, to be with what is.
And I am aware too of the quiet that follows the storm, the settling down, the gentle awakening to new realities and to the possibility of a rainbow. These two years later I am grateful to find myself emerging more and more from the storm, to be blessed with my "rainbow" Asa, and to rest in the quiet.
Baruch atah adonai eloheynu chey ha'olamim oter yisrael bigevurah. Blessed are You, the Mighty One, Our God, Life of All the Worlds, who girds Israel with strength.
Blessed are You, the Awe-Inspiring One, Our God, Life of All the Worlds, who reminds us to surrender to forces much bigger than anything we can control and who gives us the strength to ride out whatever may come.