Twister

When I was a little girl, at the first sign of adverse weather, I would swoop through the house, gathering Bear, my favorite teddy bear, and best jewelry--a braided friendship bracelet from summer camp, my James Avery charm bracelet, a dainty necklace from my grandmother's costume jewelry drawer--and would pack a bag of my favorite, most cherished items to take with me to the basement, like my favorite coloring book and markers, a few of my best books, and a "Sir Charles of Phoenix" (yes, Charles Barkley...) oversized t-shirt that I slept in every night. My bag would bulge and sag, and I'd search frantically for last-minute things that, in my young mind, were too precious to be forgotten. As I would head out the door and to my grandparents' house to hunker down in the basement, my mom would look warily at my bag and say, "Kylie, it's just 'stuff.' We can replace stuff." Although I was certain that my favorite white roller skates and my console typewriter could never, ever possibly be replaced, I trusted that my mom would not lead me astray. Once in the basement, Bear in arms, surrounded by my parents, grandparents, aunt and uncle, and cousins, I'd forget my "stuff" and cling to those I loved, those who could bring comfort when the threat of natural disaster weighed heavily on my mind.

I've always been uneasy when it comes to tornadoes, but now, the (much) older and (hopefully) wiser version of that nervous little girl has found meaning in the words of comfort my mom would give me: "It's just 'stuff.'" This morning, with advance warning of possible tornadoes in the late afternoon, I felt the familiar prickling of dread building in my stomach, and I surveyed the house briefly for things to pack, just in case; however, my collection was small: my grandmother's wedding ring and a photo of her when she was my age, a few important documents that should really be in a safety deposit box (I know, I know), and the same teddy bear I've packed in my tornado bag for the last twenty-six years. I looked briefly at my favorite running shoes, thought fleetingly about my laptop, and passed by the trinkets and baubles I've collected over the years. My main concern was for the safety of my husband, my friends and family, and the three pups I was leaving at home. As I checked the locks, I said a quick prayer for protection.

On my way to work, I thought about what I had packed in my tornado bag. As I've grown, what is "precious" to me has changed drastically, for now I understand: it is just "stuff," and stuff can be replaced. These days, what is most important to me, my most cherished belongings, are not packed haphazardly into a bag; instead, they're padded and protected and crammed into an interior bathroom, where, together, we pass the time until the all-clear is given.

And so, when the storm clouds gather and the tornado siren screams its warning, we'll be together, and we'll be happy.