(For the girl I lit the candles for)

Right before law school, I went on a missions trip to Philadelphia (you were there – we were in the second most dangerous part of the city, the Badlands; you were the first person I looked for when I arrived.  You were sitting quietly alone as I would often find you).  On that trip, I tore something in my shoulder playing football.  It has never fully healed.  But now I can predict the weather from how much it aches in the morning.  A metaphor for life.

My injury was bad.  But because I was about to head off to school and my insurance coverage was spotty, I never got it checked out.  I still played basketball with it for a year and anytime I would raise my arm above my head, it would be excruciatingly painful, sometimes bringing tears to my eyes.

Today, it’s a reminder of youth.  In some ways, strangely comforting.  I rub my shoulder and arm in the mornings to alleviate the pain, but I don’t mind it.  It reminds me that I can still feel.

In high school, I learned about the blues in English class and one description was picking at an old scab, it hurts, but feels good at the same time.  Mostly, that’s how I feel about that wound.

But there are also mornings where the pain cannot be rubbed away.  And that’s how I know rain is coming.

Lots of it.