As I pace along the road, I find myself thinking about past memories with my family, relaxing outside on our old wooden porch listening to the booming thunder and the pounding rain. God made a strike, as my pap used to call it. He passed away four years ago, and as I slowly began to move on with my life, I slowly stopped calling it Gods bowling game. It just became thunder to me, something scientific happening up in the sky I didn't quite understand for a while. I'm still not too sure what happens up in those gloomy, grey clouds. But as I pace by myself, with only the constant booming thunder to accompany me, I find myself thinking about 'Gods bowling game'. I'm not a very religious person, in fact I don't even believe in God or Jesus or anything of the sort. But calling it that brings comfort to me; as if my family was still staring up at the dreary sky together, unbroken, loving. It makes me feel as if my grandfather was still sitting here right beside me, chuckling whenever my dad would tell a funny story, or giving his opinion on some aspect of our home, whether it was the yard or the porch, or how to get rid of the massive rock. We never did get rid of it. It was either too hard or it cost too much money. Now, I get to experience watching the storms by myself. My grandfather passed, my grandmother in a home after her health issues, parents hiding away inside watching wrestling, and my brother somewhere in the house probably creating trouble. I get to watch how the leaves flip over in anticipation of the approaching storm, hearing the branches crack off their trees and falling to the ground. The clouds are swiftly traversing the sky, but the storms aren't slowing down. All I can really see is green. There's the occasional pops of colour from the tiger lilies growing in our front lawn or the purple, yellow, and red flowers we got my mum for Mother's Day. There's also some flowers that were planted years ago for me. Only the yellow one has bloomed so far, but I'd imagine the pink ones aren't too far behind. I don't really know what they are, but they're extremely colourful and gorgeous. Now, as I sit on our freshly painted picnic table, by myself, I can hear the distant thunder booming, along with the pitter pattering of the raindrops falling on bins, cars, and the asphalt. So much has changed in these past four years since my pap sadly departed, but my family is doing okay. We're not good, we're not bad. My mother is slowly recovering from her sickness, my dad is learning how to cope and deal with everything going on around us, my brother has begun growing up. As for me, I'm doing fair. As the days progress I feel my head gets a little bit crazier and I become increasingly aware that one day I may need to seek help. One day. For now, I'm okay dealing with it by myself. I've been able to handle the occasional panic attacks. I still don't feel like I'm doing as well as other people might be, mentally. But it's okay. I have loving friends and family and I know if it ever becomes too stressful or overwhelming I have them there for me.
