When Kelsea was little-little, she was afraid of thunderstorms.  Many grateful kudos to her Aunt, who finally said something that clicked in her little brain and enabled her to overcome her fear.  It hasn’t been a problem since she was small.

But the other night, a huge clap of thunder woke me out of a sound sleep.  It had been clear that evening and the rain was unexpected.  I lay there, wondering if I should check on Kelsea, just to be sure it hadn’t woken her, but I heard nothing from her room, and so I was drifting off, closer to asleep than awake, when I sensed it.  Yes, it was her little spectral presence by my bed. (This is how she wakes me; she just comes and stands silently by my sleeping form until I sense her.  It never fails.) 

The thunder had indeed woken her, and she asked if she could crawl in with me.  Of course, I made room for her.  We were snuggled up when a bolt of lightning hit in the field beside the cottage – so close that the flash and the crack of thunder came at exactly the same second, sharp and loud.  We both jerked like we’d been shocked.  And cuddled closer.  I came as close as I ever have to being struck when we were at Topsail this past summer, and so I was having a little PTSD myself.  It was nice to have her there.

We lay there, wide awake, waiting for the next shoe to drop, so to speak.  A few more flashes, a random rumble, and the storm moved on.  I fell asleep again, rolling over to find that Kelsea had gone back to her own bed.

But it was so sweet and comforting – and a bit of a flashback to her toddler-hood – to cuddle the storm away with my teenage daughter.