I was talking about storms with a friend tonight. Our community was under a severe storm warning. I told her why I’ve loved thunderstorms since I was a little girl.
When I was about six years old, lightning struck our house. My parents’ bedroom caught fire. My room was next to theirs, at the top of the stairs. My siblings’ rooms were down the hall.
The lightning struck in the middle of the night. We had to get out fast! In our jammies. My parents got us all up and out of the house as quickly as they could. We got soaking wet standing in the yard during pouring rain.
Our across the street neighbors took us in. The Gaithers. They had two teenage girls. (And some boys, but I didn’t care about that.) Meg and Carrie were so wonderful in my eyes. I idolized them.
That night I got to go in their room!! I’d never been allowed in their room before!
Carrie, who was probably 16, loaned me a nightgown. It was satin blue with beautiful lace. It was way too big, but I thought it was beautiful! I felt so special to be wearing that nightgown and getting to sleep in the big girls’ room!
The fire department was only blocks away from our neighborhood and arrived quickly to put out the fire. I’m sure there was damage to the house, and repairs had to done. But all I remember was getting to sleep in the big girls’ room that night. And the lovely blue nightgown. I felt safe at the Gaithers’ house that night.
If you’ve read some of my posts about my childhood, you may know that I didn’t often feel safe growing up. Feeling safe that night, despite the terror of our house catching fire, was a wonderful thing.
Ever since then, I’ve loved storms. They bring sweet memories.