I love a good storm. The lightening, thunder and wind bring with them a humbling message; a reminder we are, in the grand scheme of the Universe, small, insignificant and much more vulnerable than we allow ourselves to believe.

A good storm is like a great mystery novel; alive with action, drama and energy building to its conclusion – a grand finale you hope will spare the heroes and punish the villains. Wednesday night our area had all the storm drama one would ever want to pack into one summer.

St. Louis has been under a heat advisory for the last four days, the kind of unrelenting temperatures and humidity that strains air conditioners and inflates electric bills. I looked forward to the predicted thunder storms last Wednesday, as they bring with them a front of cool air in addition to the spectacle of eerily colored skies painted by lightening.

Every Wednesday evening you’ll find me at our local VA hospital, attending The Philosopher’s therapy group for veterans. What I do there can’t be described as volunteer work or a simple interest in the occupation of my other-half. I care about the people who attend and, unlike my experiences with adoption groups, feel a sense of belonging in their company. I get much more than I give, relating to the veterans and learning much about myself through the process of group. It nearly takes an act of congress to get me to miss a Wednesday gathering.

Last Wednesday, group settled into its rhythm before the winds kicked up, but when they did, accompanied by the instant darkness of a massive power-outage, several of us raced out to our cars to roll up windows. The sky turned an eerie blend of red and black and the sound of snapping branches from the forest of old oaks guarding the hospital lead me to quickly abandon my car and head for cover. I braced myself against a gust of wind threatening to knock me from my feet while watching the same gust snap a beautiful maple tree in half just yards ahead.

Group carried on as the storm gained momentum, our little room lit by emergency lighting. That all of us were willing to sit together in the dark, continuing our discussion as Mother Nature unleashed her wrath outside, bears testament to the power of what transpires every Wednesday night. The only threat to group that evening was the rising temperature of a hospital without air conditioning, but we were all determined to remain until things became unbearable.

Upon hearing metal sheering from the roof of the building, my curiosity did lead me to the lobby for a quick peek outside. Greeting me was a gathering crowd of hospital residents, standing in awe of the scene just beyond the lobby doors. On the other side of the glass, debris raced horizontally across the front of the building, backlit by the lights of police cars stationed to prevent anyone from leaving.

New to Midwest storms, I felt like child who’d just witnessed her first snowfall, excitedly offering group a weather report in what must have appeared as overly exaggerated wonderment.

The Philosopher asked if there were cows flying past the window. “Cows and semi-trucks. It’s a mess out there,” I said, visualizing a scene from Twister and realizing the storm was likely a novelty only to me.

The wind and rain passed. When group dispersed into the parking lot still darkened by the storm clouds and power outage, only the occasional belch of lighting from the dwindling storm revealed the damage. Fallen trees, branches and debris appeared and disappeared with each burst of lightening, like watching a movie one frame at a time.

Our home greeted us with lights and, blessedly, air conditioning, but no traces of bad weather. As my excitement from the storm began to fade, I wondered if I hadn’t been a bit of a drama queen over the whole ordeal. Until I read the news reports.

By morning, St. Louis was in an official state of emergency. The National Guard arrived to move people from sweltering homes to air-conditioned buildings and overturned tractor-trailers were among the debris littering the highways. The VA hospital’s patients were being evacuated and newspaper meteorologists reported one tornado spawned from the storm:


At our hospital. Outside our group room.

I felt a little vindicated about my, now justified, wide-eyed excitement. But I mostly felt proud; proud that the group of people I spend Wednesday evenings with value their time together to such a degree, not even a tornado diverts them from their duties to one another.