There was once a little girl of 3 years. She lived with her family in a small house in a tiny neighborhood. Aside from the girl, the family consisted of a mother, father, a teenage boy, and 2 dogs. The neighborhood was poor, but peaceful, and the trees and flowers were blooming beautifully as springtime arrived.
All was seemingly well until one day, Father ran into the house to announce a terrible storm headed towards the neighborhood. The warning gave inadequate time to prepare as a massive wind gust shoved Father into the house from the doorway. The sky darkened and the air smelled of rain.
Mother grabbed the girl and Brother and ran towards the closet at the center of the house. Father fought against the wind to pull the front door shut as the dogs ran inside. Finally he was successful and took his place in the closet with his family.
The small house vibrated. The family held hands and kept their heads down and eyes closed. It was pitch black in the closet. The storm raged around them – they heard crashes, screams, and powerful cracks of boisterous thunder.
The ferocity of the storm continued through the night. The family trembled together in the tightly packed closet.
An eerie silence slowly draped the atmosphere of the closet . The girl opened her eyes and found herself sitting alone. She stood and stepped out into the house.
The sun was beaming through the windows. The two dogs ran passed her, wrestling over a strip of rope. Brother sat silently at the dining room table, eating a bowl of cereal. Father was out. Father was always out. Mother was in her bed, crying.
Whether thunder and funnels of fire and fury, or a home full of cracks and tears, inside the house or from the clouds – a storm is a storm. That’s the day the girl’s eyes opened and her heart was broken.