As a little girl, I was always frightened by thunderstorms. I think it had something to do with the loud bang that erupted in the sky or the flash of lightning that crackled. When it stormed, sleep was not an option. I’d lie in bed, stare at my ceiling, and pray that the roof wouldn’t cave in when I woke in the morning.

            My dad tried everything to get me to sleep. He bought me a stuffed bear once; it was twice my size and felt like a blanket against my rosy skin. Even so, by the time the next rainstorm came around, I’d cling for dear life to my bear and wouldn’t allow my mind to creep into dreamland. When that didn’t work my dad bought me a sound machine, with the hope that the faint bird chirps and buzz of crickets would shift my focus from the beating rain. Alas, he forgot that sound machines welcomed the thud of rain, and it didn’t dawn on him until my cries echoed louder than the storm.

            With every glimmer of hope depleted, my dad resorted to a story he was told as a boy. “My dear, do not be afraid when the clatter of thunder drowns out your laughter and causes you to quiver in the dark,” I asked why in a faded whisper. 

“Don’t you remember the time when I took you bowling? Your feet slipped from the shiny bowling shoes I laced up and you picked out the brightest pink ball that weighed more than you.”

“Yeah…” I uttered softly; afraid the thunder would sense my fear.

            “Well, my darling daughter, when there is a crackle in the sky, an angel is bowling, just like how you did that day. She throws her bowling ball and thunder roars as it crashes into each pin. When lightning bursts, our angel has made a strike. We should be proud of her, not scared.”

            “Really? How do you know?” I’d ask while curled up next to my bear, impatiently waiting to hear the rest of the story.

            “I’ve seen it, my dear.” When the rain died down, he’d wrap me in my pink floral blanket, place me on his shoulders, and point at the twinkling stars in the night sky. 

“Do you see how that star is flickering?”

“Yes, I can see it,” I replied wiping the sleep from my eyes.

“Well, my dear. There is our culprit.” 

“You mean the star shakes our house in the middle of the night,” I questioned.

“No, my dear. Our angel.”

I remember staring up at her that night as she sparkled ever so brightly. It was the first time her thunderous roars greeted me with silence. The first night I drifted into a peaceful slumber, not waking until the rays of sunlight beamed against my coral wall.