My blog is rife with confession. Some posts are murderous in their prose while others are poignant in their delivery. But, at the end of the day, they are merely the honest workings of a wounded man’s tortured mind. Sober, or otherwise…
I have written often of my fondness for rain; well, tonight the sky opened up and poured forth a glorious release of falling comfort. Much to my pleasure, and I’m sure to your dismay, forgive me! But please, let me explain. Droplets fell from above, cleansing the streets below. Tires hissed along the moistened roadway. This is poetry to my aching mind, I love the rain! I am not sure that I ever knew why. I always attributed it to my English heritage and European background. Tonight, though, while walking home with a bag of groceries in hand, I found myself humming a tune that shied just beneath my breath. Closed lipped at first, and then;
‘It’s raining. It’s pouring.
The old man is snoring.
He went to bed and bumped his head and couldn’t get up in the morning’.
I crooned this tune to myself several times over, until my mouth gave way to the lyrics that spilled from my tongue. As I walked the less ambled streets and avenues, I sung myself this simplistic tune over and over… I did so until the sound of my voice gave way to that of my mother’s. I stopped dead in my tracks. My mother’s voice?! Rain slapped gently against the leaves overhead that dangled from the trees above. All of a sudden, I was five years old again, lain on my back within a bed designed solely for me. My mother was crouched overtop of me, a smile etched to her face while rain tapped against the window overlooking my bed. Through her comforting complexion, she began to softly release; “It’s raining. It’s pouring. The old man is snoring. He went to bed and bumped his head and couldn’t get up in the morning… Goodnight, Matty-watt!”
I stood motionless beneath the falling rain. My tears blended in with the cascading drops from above. Mum! … The reason I love the rain became so painfully clear; because my mother showed me how to! Rain became a fable. One that could draw a smile to a child’s face. She turned rain into music! Her beaming face and falling drops; a perfect combination for a child to fall in love. Especially for one whom rarely saw his mother happy… Smiles and joy are a commodity in my family…
Maybe when the rain came, maybe then she’d get out of bed?! Maybe that’s when the depression would leave her? Just maybe…
As a kid, on rainy days, I was always outside! I pretended to be, Nate The Great or Sherlock Holmes. And I played through whatever scenario was concocted through my tireless imagination. I would also seize the opportunity to run up to my mum and carol; “It’s raining. It’s pouring…” followed by a cheeky grin whilst waiting for her to complete the duet; “The old man is snoring…” and we would finish off the rest together.
I think I loved and love the rain because it reminds me of my dear mum! She came from a land of rain, and I came from that same place as well as from her. And our little fictitious tune was always the escape from whatever was going on in the world. At least, that is what it has become to me, since depression ended her life…
I will always remember my mum standing overtop of me, gently singing like raindrops to leaves, albeit a little off key and heavily accented by her British tongue;
‘It’s raining. It’s pouring.
The old man is snoring.
He went to bed and bumped his head and couldn’t get up in the morning’.
And I love that! The rain reminds me of her smile and comfort. And in turn, the rain warbles in such a way as to force a smile to me!
I love you, mum. Send the rain whenever you wish!
Joan “mum” Heneghan. December 8th, 1948 – November 6th, 2017 – the sky may cry, but know that I am smiling beneath your lullaby!
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