Stormy Weather, a Daughter’s Love

Hannah Martin had risen early to the sound of her clock radio alarm going off. Spring had been wet and wild, and tornadoes had torn through the part of the country known as tornado alley, wreaking havoc and unleashing their fury. With the torrential rain that battered the trees and the funnel clouds that clipped many more, the sad area of the Ohio River Valley had suffered. With the arrival of summer, the rivers went from sponge-soaking waterways spilling over their banks to a horrible, humid drought. The trees she knew were stressed, and she prayed nightly for rain.

Life had changed dramatically for Hannah. She was approaching her mid-fifties and had recently buried her father, and now she was in charge of her helpless, blind, petite mother, Marie. Her morning had begun with a quick kiss from her husband, as he hurried off to work. As was her routine, she would get out of bed, help her mother clean up, and prepare breakfast. Today was to be a special day—a big trip to the local hair stylist. Her mother needed her hair trimmed, and Hannah wanted her to look her best for the upcoming holidays.

Walking into her mother’s bedroom, she gently touched her arm and called softly, “Momma, time to get up and get ready for your big day. I want to get going before that new Arctic blast hits the Northeast, which is due to slam the upper states.” She knew she had said more than her mother could comprehend.

“Who are you, and what are you doing in my bedroom?” Marie asked. It was always the same with her mother, ever since she had slipped into the third stage of dementia. Her mother’s response would have been heartbreaking for Hannah had she not grown used to being unfamiliar with her mother.

With the patience of Jobe, Hannah spoke in a slightly annoyed yet calming voice, “Momma, it’s Hannah, your daughter.”

Marie, a fragile 88-year-old woman, offered only slight resistance, though Hannah struggled to get her up and out of her wet nightgown.

“No, Hannah died,” she said. “Go find my daughter, Claire. She is nicer than you.”

Hannah said, in a firm but patient voice, “Fine.”

She managed to strip the bedclothes with much effort and growing expertise and set her mother in a wheelchair. Leaving the room, Hannah went out to the back porch, leaned against the railings, and felt like screaming.

She noticed her frame of mind matched the moody skies overhead. The earth’s atmosphere was starting to take on a hint of green—not a good sign. Taking a deep breath, she counted to ten, exhaled slowly to an equal count, and then returned inside the house.

Adopting a cheerful tone and posing as Claire, she said, “Hello, Momma, it’s me, Claire. Hannah said you wanted me?” Hannah never had a sister named Claire, and could not imagine where her mother had come up with the idea she had a daughter named Claire.

“Oh, good. Claire darling, you need to talk to Hannah. I’m about to fire her. She is way too bossy for me.”

Marie’s temperament was softer and more pleasant. Maybe the skies would follow suit, and a brief break in the clouds would allow a little sunshine through on the blustery October day.

“It’s fine, Mom,” Hannah appeased. “I'll talk to Hannah. I'm sure she doesn’t mean to be bossy. She's just really busy. Come on, love, let’s finish getting you sorted and freshened up, and you’re going to get your hair done today!” Marie was cheerful and happy as she helped Hannah put her on the toilet.

She covered her mother with a clean towel and took the soiled gown to the laundry room. It was the same routine she had done every day for the past eight years. Filling the sink with warm, sudsy water, she bathed her mother, put her in a fresh diaper, dressed her in the prettiest top and pants she owned, and covered her tiny feet with warm socks. It was then time to give her meds and feed her breakfast. When that was done, it was Hannah’s turn to get dressed.

The weather band alert on the radio went off, saying, “This is a weather alert from your local broadcast system. The National Weather Service has issued a tornado warning for the counties of ....” Hannah waited to see if her county would be mentioned. Since it was the county that began with nearly the last letter of the alphabet, it was finally announced—after a list of about 20 counties. The weather statement ended with a caution to take appropriate actions.

Hannah hurried to get dressed. Then she covered her mother with suitable warm-weather gear in case conditions worsened and pushed her wheelchair into the van. Hannah had always had strong upper-body strength, so lifting her tiny, 80-pound mother was easy. Her strength had come from lifting large dogs. For most of her life, she had big dogs, usually weighing between 90 and 100 pounds. She was used to lifting them onto the vet's exam table and wrestling with them. Therefore, Marie’s light weight was not much of a struggle to get her into the van. The other side of this double-edged situation was that her mother had been blind for most of Hannah’s life, so Marie’s confusion at times was understandable.

Hannah navigated straight to the stylist shop, which was located inside a large chain store. She entrusted her mother to the stylist's care, saying she needed to pick up a few things and would be back soon. While shopping, the weather warning alert played over the public address system. Hannah hurriedly finished her shopping. They needed to get home soon. Popping into the hair salon, she paid for her mother’s service and told the stylist she would go out to put her groceries in the van and would be back to gather her mother.

Pushing the shopping cart to her van, she opened the door and felt the first blast of frigid air, followed by an ominous rumbling of thunder from the northwest. Glancing up at the sky, she saw it had turned a sickly shade of green. Hannah knew it meant that those clouds were filled with hail, and that was an ominous sign that a tornado could be embedded in the dark, spinning clouds. Absently preoccupied with the sky, she had inadvertently thrown her car keys onto the front seat and hurried to get her bags loaded. As she stepped away from the car door, a strong gust of wind grabbed the open door and slammed it shut.

Hannah finished loading her groceries into the back of the van, pushed the hatch shut, and walked to the driver’s side of the car. She realized that she had inadvertently pushed the locking mechanism on the van, and the doors were in the locked position—something she had done out of habit. Peeking through the window, she saw the keys lying inside. Her heart sank. Hannah grabbed her cell phone from her purse, flipped it open, and saw that the battery was low. She might have just enough power to make one crucial phone call, she thought.

By then, the wind had picked up. Tremendous hail fell—a torrential downpour. The blustery wind whipped so hard that it pelted her lightweight jacket with pebble-like ice. She dashed to the overhanging awning of the store and waited for the storm to pass. She felt like a living water fountain outside the garden section of the store. Hannah must have looked like a pitiful drowned rat because a kindly patron of the store rushed over and thrust the umbrella she held in her hand into Hannah’s now freezing, wet hands.

She smiled and said, “You need this more than I do.”

Hannah gratefully thanked the woman and pushed the lever to raise the umbrella. To her disappointment, a strong gust of wind caught the canopy and turned it wrong-side-out.

The storm alarms were still going off, and the sky had grown wicked and angrier. There was no way she could bring her mother out into this menacing mess.

Wiping the rain from her face and letting her hair drip in rivulets, she sheltered her phone enough to call her neighbor. Saying a silent prayer, she pleaded, ‘Please, sweet Jesus, let me have enough battery to get Roger to bring me his set of keys.’

She tapped Roger's icon on her phone, and it began to ring. Then a deep voice answered, “Hello.”

“Roger, it’s me, Hannah. I have my mother at her hairstylist’s salon, and I locked my keys in the car. Do you still have my spare set?”

The moment she said she had Momma with her and had locked herself out of the car, Roger’s ears perked up, and his concern heightened. “Where are you, Hannah? What is that noise?”

“She is safe in the store. I am the one caught in the storm. I am down by the garden section. Would you please bring me the keys and help me get into my van?”

Roger spoke softly, “I’m about 20 minutes away. Keep Momma inside, and I will be right there.” The phone went dead as he hung up, and Hannah noticed there was no more power left on her phone—dark like the predatory sky.

When Roger arrived, he saw how drenched Hannah was, and said, ‘You ain’t getting in my truck. I’ll go in to get Momma. You can bring the van around. I’ll help you load her in it.”

Getting into her van, Hannah thanked her neighbor and started the engine. Dripping wet and soaked to the bone, she drove around the large parking lot, dodging erratic drivers and massive water puddles. Finally, she arrived at the storefront.

Without delay, Roger jerked the van door open and grumbled, “What took you so long?”

Hannah did not want to appear ungrateful. “Sorry, Roger, I was dodging obstacles in the parking lot. Thank you for helping with my mother.”

All Hannah could think about was getting them home safely before the impending tornado, taking a hot shower, sitting with a warm blanket tucked around her, and sipping a hot cup of tea.

Roger’s body language told Hannah precisely what he was thinking about her caregiving skills that day. Roger picked up Marie and put her in the front seat, buckled her seatbelt, and placed the wheelchair in the back of the van.

“Head home—don’t stop. A tornado was spotted less than a quarter mile away, and we don’t need Momma catching her death from a cold.”

Hannah wanted to growl and shout, but it was neither the time nor the place. Roger had gone above and beyond, and her total disregard for weather conditions had caused this fiasco. She turned up the heat in the car, causing steam to rise from her soaked clothing and dripping hair. Had it been another time and in another place, she might have laughed.

Rushing to get home, she took her mother to the storm shelter and collected the pets. She was about to join them when the sun peeked through the dark clouds and smiled down on her. In that moment, she felt in her heart that God was not going to let her catch her death from this cold, ominous day. Besides, her mother already believed she was dead.