So many times in a week we look around at something fun we’re doing, sigh, and say, “Deacon would have loved this.” But today began with walls of rain, claps of thunder, and even some hail, and I thought, “Deacon would have hated this.”

Out of five kids, Deacon was the only one ever scared of storms. He seemed to have an innate sense of their arrival and I’d crack my eyes to see his little form standing at my bedside, often before the first drop of rain had even fallen. “It’s going to storm,” he’d whisper. I’d lift my blankets and he’d scramble in next to me, all knees and elbows. The only time a kiddo really ever slept with us was Deacon during a storm.

Today, the thunder woke me and I strained to hear the squeak of our door opening and his feet padding in. Instead, I was slammed again with the realization he wouldn’t be coming. We’d sleep this storm out kid-free. I clung to his favorite blankie (that stays in our bed now), squeezed my eyes shut and searched my memory for every sense of his warm body curled into mine. His back against my chest, my nose pressed into the back of his head with his perfect little boy smell all around, his always-noisy breathing steadying back into sleep.

I miss the things he loved. And now, I realize, I miss the things he hated, too. I just miss it all.

I wonder if it storms in heaven. I hope it does…I adore a good storm. If it does, I imagine Deacon has a new appreciation for them in a realm without fear. And a Heavenly Father wrapping His arms around him until I can get there.

While he may have hated the storms…he was always up for the mud puddles left behind.