I've always been afraid of storms. Even the little ones. When I was very young, I wanted to hide under my grandma's big oak table. I guess it was the sturdiest thing I could think of (besides my daddy).  Now I question every spring why I didn't install a shelter last fall. I never adopted the Oklahoma way. I don't stand in the driveway watching the churning clouds, and I don't anticipate stormy weather like it's a party.

Tuesday, I haunted the news coverage playing in my office while I tried to stay engaged on a conference call. I was stuck downtown while coverage of storms north of me predicted a turn toward my house. And toward my baby.

My baby is three. He is home with his darling nanny. Safe. Protected. Happy. And I am thankful. Grateful. Blessed.  Today, my heart breaks for another mommy.  I promised myself I wouldn't cry. That I wouldn't watch the press conference. That I wouldn't write this post. I am human. I am a mommy.

Until this morning, I didn't know if another three-year old Ryan was blond or brunette. I don't know if he liked Elmo or Cars. I don't know if he craved pasta or snow cones. I don't know if his hair smelled like Johnson's or coconut or if he liked to play outside more than anything in the world. And, I don't know his mommy or his daddy or his sister and brother. I have, in reality, zero connection to this family who has lost two children. I do know that a city weeps for them. Mommies unite in their grief and gather their babies closer.

Last night, I rocked my three-year old to sleep. He smelled like coconut shampoo and wet puppy. He likes Elmo, and Cars. I bought him a new race car last night. Just because I could. And we treated him to snow cone. Just because we could. Little things I take for granted but never will again. I was late for work today because he wanted me to hold him, and I very nearly stayed home just to snuggle. Because I can.

I struggle with my faith in a God whose power was shown so mightily two days ago. The power doesn't seem so mighty today. The sun is shining. The skies are clear. But I am reminded of a family who grieves. And I pray that the mighty power can give them comfort even as it took so much.

Storms will come again. And each time I will remember another Ryan. Forever three. Forever his mommy's baby.