“Where there are no words… know the silences are carrying
the thoughts and prayers of all who love you.” -Dawn Dais

 
“What is this?” I wondered, placing my hands on my collar bone to get as close as possible to the problem. I sat in my parked car and looked out into the rain.

Six months ago, my father passed away.  “I can’t describe this moment, other than to say that I always knew his heart would stop and mine would feel torn out simultaneously,” I wrote here.  This torn-out heart feeling still overwhelms me at times and last Sunday was one of those times. 

Frustrated, I opened my car door and stepped into a soggy puddle. Thunder clapped nearby. Then, I heard something else. “It couldn’t be” I thought, “In the rain?”  I listened closer.

I’d parked near Meridian Hill Park. Most Sundays, there’s an amazing drum circle by the Joan of Arc statue. I didn’t think they’d be out in this weather and I hadn’t planned on attending, but the rhythm called me in like Sirens. 

The drummers were clustered under a big tree, somewhat shielded from the rain. I timidly stepped under the tree’s umbrella too. Standing so close, the drums’ beats reverberated through my body – my rib-cage, chest and collar bone all hummed softly.

I tilted my head back and smiled. Their rhythm was a gift – a shared heartbeat to help me back to life.

The sun came out eventually, and drops of rain bounced off the drums with each beat. I tried to capture the moment in this picture.  After the rain, there is sunshine.