Fear is the Mind Killer

The above title is from "The Litany Against Fear," found in Frank Herbert's classic sci-fi novel Dune. I was turned on to the book by my first love, perhaps in the hopes that I might use the litany when he took me to see the movie "Arachnophobia." I did not. I did, however, shriek loudly enough to put the ix-nay on any romantic overtures he might have been planning AND gouge holes in his arms that probably could have used stitches. In my defense, I told him I was afraid of spiders. I shared with him that my idea of hell was to be confronted by a spider-filled basement as a tornado approached. I guess he thought I was exaggerating. I was not.

Fear, for my family, is in fact a mind killer. Seriously, our minds just roll over and die when we are faced by our fears. For example, I give you the time in high school when, during chorus practice, a spider fell from the ceiling and into my shirt. The spiders in the auditorium were of the "wolf" variety, possessing long, hairy legs and a tendency to bounce out of corners and down from rafters. I lived in terror of them and when one made the (fatal) error of dropping onto my body, I lost my everloving shit. I began screaming and flailing my arms about, charging onto the stage and...wait for it...ripping off my shirt, to the horror of my male choral director and to the fascination of all of the boys in the chorus, most of whom were unaware that I had breasts. They quickly discovered that I did as I actually lifted my bra away from my body to let one of my friends check to make sure that the spider wasn't lurking on my nipple. It wasn't. It had succumbed to a heart attack about two inches from the spot of impact. (Thank the filing cabinet the tenors weren't in the backyard the day a spider crept up my cut-offs as I was weeding a flower bed and I dropped trou while racing toward the house. )

In case you were wondering, every single one of my family members has the tendency to run and shriek when terrors loom. My mother, bless her heart, could wake the dead with her shrieks if a wasp gets within five feet of her and though she claims that her knee bothers her too much to take up jogging, she could totally kick Michael Johnson's ass in a foot race if a hornet approached. Hayden smacked me upside the head with a stick one time while searching for a wiffle ball and much wailing and running took place. By him.

But the biggest Scream-And-Run Fests took place during tornado season. Oh, the tears as the warnings were announced...the shrieks as one or more of my brothers refused to leave G.I. Joe figures behind as we were herded into the car to head toward my aunt's basement...the declarations of hatred that took place when Daddy refused to go. Good times, my friends, good times.

Throughout the years, I've worked hard to wrestle my fears into submission. Having Jeffrey helped, because I didn't want him to be as crippled by my terrors as I used to be. So, I'm all Bravey McBravewell these days when it comes to spiders. On the outside at least. I've been known to let one of those weird little green spiders that look like crabs crawl on my arm so that Jeffrey could see its eyes. I was all, "Ooh, look, buddy. It has an orange stripe on its head." But inside? Inside I was shrieking, "What the FUCK are you doing? Do you SEE what's on your arm? That's a SPIDER, you dumb ass. It will BITE you. It will KILLLLL YOOOOOUUUU!!!"

Ahem.

You can understand my consternation, then, when a few weeks ago, Jeffrey's focus shifted from bugs to storms. My parents gave me a book about bad weather for Christmas a few years ago and Jeffrey discovered it. He can now tell you all about wall clouds and anvils and red sprites and wedge tornadoes. Just in time for tornado season. Now, you may know that a few days ago, there was a tornado outbreak across the south. People in my area of Georgia tend to be cavalier about tornadoes; my mother-in-law once told me loftily, "I'm not afraid of weather" when I warned her not to go to Hell-Mart because of an approaching squall line. (She had plenty of time to rethink her position when the store went into lockdown and she found herself crouched under a shelf of men's underwear that she figured she'd pull on top of herself if the tornado ripped off the ceiling.) In short, nobody around here has a basement, including us. So when the second of three tornado warnings (I missed the first one, which is probably a good thing because I don't think my nerves could have handled three in one night) came, we betook ourself to the my husband's closet. Once in there, Jeffrey started asking questions like, "Is it a cell merger, Mama?" and "Will it break our house, Daddy?" These questions were unnerving to say the least, but Will and I held our shit together and made small talk and tried to tell the truth without scaring our little guy.

When the warning passed, we put Jeffrey to bed and I went to work. Between watching segments of some true crime show, I checked out the Weather Channel. I noted the storm to our southwest, a big ol' blob of red and orange that was heading our way. When it spawned a tornado warning, I wasn't surprised. I was, however, very calm. I called work, informed them of the situation, told Will we needed to keep an eye out, and when the warning was inevitably issued for our county, I got Jeffrey out of bed and settled in the closet without a tremor. He didn't even wake up, I was so smooth. And then...well, I decided I'd check out the local station to see what was going on. Just in time to see the Doogie-Howser-looking meteorologist say, "...a potentially LIFE-THREATENING situation in Not-Hannah's County." Do fuh??

And, my friends, my mind died. It started banging itself against my skull until it was good and killt and then it oozed out of my ears, after which I will not admit that I sat on the floor, nursing River, who wasn't hungry and kept looking at me like, "Why the hell is your nipple in my mouth, woman?" I will further not admit that I moaned/whispered, "My babies...my babies...." while rocking back and forth and spraying my sleeping son with the milk River was not drinking. I will say that when Will said, "If the kids were awake, they'd be looking to you for an example of how to behave," I was able to come back with the snappy reply, "I could get my shit together."

Because I'd have to, you know? Fear isn't just the mind killer, it's a luxury a mother can't afford in times of crisis. I have to go all mentat during those times, facing each horror as it comes so that my kids aren't psychologically damaged.

What about shots, you say? Didn't you force Will to take time off work to get Jeffrey immunized because of your fear of needles, you add? Damn, people. Do not expect miracles from me, okay? One phobia at a time. Sheesh.