Today I Listened to the Rain

Excuse the unfinished backyard, but take a listen.

Memories are a strange thing.

Both sweet and startling, I have had memories flood back into my view multiple times this week. These did not paralyze me or trigger any traumatic reactions, but they did jolt me enough to make me pause, breathe, and remember.

The first was the sweetest. As I ate my softboiled eggs and drank coffee from a mug that lived in my grandparents’ kitchen for years, I could only think back to the weekends, as a child, that I spent with them in Stockton, CA. Eating softboiled eggs was something that my Grandpa Chow would do each morning. I would climb up onto the vinyl, padded, swivel barstool and belly up to the speckled, avocado green, tiled countertop. Grandma would serve us each an egg in a special holder (Who even knew those existed?) and the ritual would begin. Grandpa taught me how to carefully crack the egg right in the middle, slowly rotating it while tapping the shell with a spoon to make the perfectly straight crack like a belt around the egg. We then carefully pulled off the top and added a couple of shakes of salt. And then the payoff, slurp the yolk and carve out the rest with the spoon.

Oh, so good. I don’t have the fancy holders, so this morning, I had to take my time. The dogs must have wondered why I was staring at my eggs so long, “Maybe he’s thinking about giving it to us!” Not a chance canines, not a chance.

Oh, those were good times. I do miss that big, silent, soft-boiled egg-eating guy.

The next memory was not so sweet.

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Part 1: After my bout with Covid and subsequent Long Covid journey, coughing makes me nervous. I have been sick this week, and of course, it’s a cough. While I am not sure that it rises to the level of PTSD, even after testing to make sure that it is not COVID, RSV, or the Flu, without even thinking, I have been measuring my breathing just to make sure that I still could. At my worst during COVID, I could only say 2-3 words before running out of breath, and just like that, those memories came back.

Breath in.
Breath out.
All good.

Part 2: My doctor went ahead and prescribed me something for the cough. And yep, the very same thing that was given to me during my Covid time. It is not anything more than a cough suppressant, but I was on it for months after I got out of the hospital; the “pearls” were my friend as I struggled to regain my aforementioned breath. It was so weird; even as I picked it up from the pharmacy, the mere mention of the drug itself sent shivers up my spine. I had to tell myself, “All good, same drug, common drug, not for Covid, just for cough.”

Add that on top of all the things in the world that are worthy of attention and energy, it became abundantly clear that I needed to pause and take a breath — so I stood at our back door and stared at the rain.

To my Gen X brain, rain is either Purple or to Blame, but on this particular morning, as I stood at our back window, it was a hearty and healthy reminder of renewal and the need for us sometimes to simply be still. I didn’t try to do anything to or with the memories; I just let them settle in my soul as I listened to rain.

When emotions flood us, it is tempting to push and power through as if we are somehow immune from the impacts of our past. Sometimes our memories will require deep and extensive work to understand them, but more often, they simply need to be held with tenderness and care. Our memories give our lives depth and texture. They are a record of choices, experiences, love, loss, laughter, and all that makes life so beautifully complex and colorful.

Sometimes, all that is required of our memories is to remember them.

While I am still hacking like a smoking sailor of old and frightening the dogs, I am allowing myself to go ahead and check my breathing from time to time. At the same time, whether it is napping in his La-Z-Boy or slurping egg yolks, I am holding the memories of Grandpa Chow just as tenderly because both the sweet and the startling have played a part in molding and shaping my life. And the wonderful thing is that these two brief moments of remembrance, along with so many other memories past or still yet to be made, will continue to do so.

Breath in.
Breath out.
All good.