When Skies Are Gray
The first forecast of autumn rain always stirs something within me. Summer is officially over, the sun sets earlier, and people start bringing jackets everywhere they go. What I struggle with most is the thought of being cooped up indoors, trying to avoid the rain. It may be flu season, but as a new mom, I’m just as afraid of cabin fever.
This past summer was my first as a mom, and the ability to get outside, even briefly, was a sanity saver. My baby also loved the fresh air and change of scenery. As I braced for the emotional weight of the season’s first rain, I found myself wondering how my mother handled it when I was little. And then I remembered: one morning, she gently woke me up, holding my little raincoat.
It was a cold, gray, wet morning. The rain sounded heavy, but not violent. It was the soft, slow type of rain with fat raindrops. It was the kind of rain that reminded me the sky needs a gentle cry from time to time, too. Maybe my mom had a similar thought about the sky, because that morning she woke me up as though we were going to spend time with a friend. She had a calm excitement about her. My eyes weren’t even completely open yet.
“Do you want to walk with me in the rain?”
With the change in season came a different kind of excitement. It wasn’t the jumping, screaming, and laughing kind. It was grounded within me. I held still as my mom bundled me in more layers than I’d ever worn: long sleeves, sweatshirts, scarves, even a poncho. I was just tall enough to hold my mom’s hand without stretching, but small enough that the layers almost swallowed me. Still, it felt like we were dressing up to meet someone special.
As we stepped outside, I thought we’d forgotten something — an umbrella. But my mom hadn’t forgotten. She wanted to walk not just through the rain, but in it with me. That day, we weren’t shielding ourselves from the rain. We were soaking in what would become one of our most treasured memories. The sound of the raindrops on my little poncho’s hood, the cool chill in the air, and the warmth of my mom’s hand in mine. I stuck my other hand out to feel the rain on my skin — and I felt like sunshine. I felt the freedom and joy in embracing what we had no control over, and what we otherwise would have tried to avoid: the rain.
As we know, autumn in California comes with a bit of a tease. Rainy season doesn’t just start one day and stick around. There are lingering sunny days here and there, just to remind us of what we’ll miss. Like many people, when I see a forecast of rain, I want to wait it out until another sunny day comes. I don’t plan to go out, open the windows, or interact with the gray world outside. But this is my baby’s first autumn. On this rainy day, I’m the mom.
My baby boy doesn’t know how to walk yet, so we wouldn’t get to go on a poncho walk together this time around. Right now, he’s exploring his world with those big brown eyes, so I took a smaller step toward embracing the rain. I put my son on the couch so he could brace himself on the backrest while facing the window. Then I pulled up the blinds.
I saw the moment he realized the world outside was not only different than what he knew — it was moving. This was his very first time seeing rain. He was entranced. As the rain poured wonder into his eyes, gratitude and love swelled in my heart. There may not have been sunshine in the sky that day, but nothing could shine brighter than my son’s eyes in that moment. He pressed his hand to the window, and the glass fogged up around it.
I could see it.
On this beautifully rainy day, he was the sunshine.
He is certainly mine.
