Storms, they don’t last forever
I wouldn’t say I live in fear of them, but I do dread the announcement of an incoming storm. And you know something, I’m convinced that since we started naming them, they’ve become more prevalent. When we humanise them, I can almost hear the chatter to each other, “Hi Isha, it’s Storm Darragh here, I’m thinking of whipping over to Ireland; you were there earlier in the year, what’s it like?” Storm Isha no doubt enthused, “It’s great, full of nooks and crannies in which to create havoc – go for it Darragh!”
Storm Isha hit us on January 21st, 2024. I live on a hill and the roar of her howl was ferocious. The following day I saw she’d wrecked the fencing; and she very nearly wrecked me. My brother and I set about replacing the downed posts, and while I mixed concrete I felt a sharp wallop to the side of my back. I thought something had hit me, but looking around I saw no fallen debris. Yet my back throbbed with pain; still, I carried on mixing. The following morning I had to roll out of bed, and standing up made me shout out with pain.
In the past, I’ve never suffered with back pain. In fact, I’ve always been complacent when it comes to back care. As I was after Isha’s concrete-mixing incident, ‘It’ll mend itself in a few days,’ I told myself, while (stupidly) shuffling towards the gym. Then hot on the heels of Storm Isha, along blew Jocelyn, baying like a banshee. By then, the back pain had shifted down into my right buttock. I dealt with that, like I deal with people who are a pain in the a**e – keep moving. Except, when the pain moved into my calf, it stopped me moving for a day. The following day I continued to walk, but with a limp. A limp that bothered my head.
People stopped me in the street, “You’re limping, what happened?” Their questions were well intentioned; but some told catastrophic stories of back injuries leading to this surgery and that situation. These tales gave me a sense of foreboding that got me down.
Then along came Storm Kathleen. And I like to think it was my mother (called Kathleen), working through her, for after that storm my pain began to abate. Soon, I could power-walk with abandon once more. Kathleen’s arrival liberated me from a curse I now know as Sciatica; it has some nerve, I can tell ya. It took me three months to walk that scourge away; and I’ll be careful not to see it come back anytime soon.
Then Storm Lillian arrived, she blew away with little bluster round my corner of Cavan. Yet Lillian must have had a word with Storm Ashley, who in turn told Darragh, “Blow into Ireland, hit her hard!” And he certainly did that; I have relatives in the north-west of the county who were without power for almost a week. I write this in the final days of 2024, and it looks like we’ll see out the year without further weather storms; in fact we’re experiencing unseasonably balmy weather.
But of course we have our own personal storms. Our lives are driven by the ebb and flow of: troubles, hardship, heartbreak, illness, injury, grief… the list is endless. Yet unlike weather storms, we can’t foresee or batten down for our lives’ whirlwinds – and we certainly won’t christen our crisis and woes with a name.
Now we’re on the cusp of a new year, I write this with a positive-punch. Perhaps it’s a cliché to compare our personal struggles to storms, but given the year we’ve had, it seems apt. We should learn from 2024, let’s put Isha, Darragh and all their stormy mates behind us. They were destructive, deathly, cruel, obstructive, injurious, and so much more – but we got over them, resolutely. Which brings me neatly round to New-Years-Resolutions. I personally don’t bother with them. They’re supposedly designed to improve our lives. The fact is, most of us break our resolutions within a few weeks, instilling a sense of self-disappointment – why bother ourselves with that burden. Instead, resolve to weather the ups and downs the new year may bring, and embrace life to the fullest.
2025 will have its storms, but remember – they don’t last forever.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
READ MORE