By Michael Hardwick
December 8, 2007, was a normal semi-cold day for the state of Oklahoma. It was a Friday. By 6 p.m., Christmas shoppers were starting to fill the parking lots of their favorite malls and specialty shops, checking off those final Christmas gifts from their lists.
In Norman, the Oklahoma Sooner football team was basking in the warmth of the Dec. 1 upset over the Missouri tigers, 38-17. But that would be the last warm moment for a while.
Local weatherman Gary England, the first weatherman in history to use Doppler radar, warned Oklahomans of a deadly ice storm coming their way. OG--E employees were on alert. Street workers brought out the sand spreaders, hoping to slow down the slippage on bridges and streets. Freezing rain began to blanket the state.
By Saturday morning, ice was in the panhandle. By noon, it was almost everywhere. By 3 p.m., trees were bending. Electric lines were breaking. While many had no heat or electricity, England continued to report to those with batteries and rabbit ears. Energy had gone south for the winter.
Finally, the storm moved on. Norman looked like a war zone.
And that's where this story begins, a story of the two that stayed together, through thick and thin. Whether good, or not so good, God's love had made them that way. They were a couple who had maintained their love for each other in spite of all odds, in spite of all challenges. They prepared for this storm like any other, together.
When news of the storm was announced, they were in the back yard admiring the wonder of the season. When the mercury dropped on the outdoor thermometer some were heard hoofing it to the warm Gulf Coast region. They considered it, but, no, they stayed, committed to be there for Christmas and for those who might come by to enjoy their company.
As the sleet and freezing rain bent the world upside down, she smiled, never believing the worst. He stayed close to her, in case she did.
The ice-laden tree limbs hit the ground with a "boom." Traffic slowed to a halt. Sycamores, pines and Bradford pears seemed to take the worst. Tree tops were on the ground. Nature's ability to flex under the load would soon lose. Jay-walking was essential. No sidewalk was safe.
Then the silence set in. Nature was still.
Finally, off in the distance, the cracking sound of trucks driving through the tree-limb ridden streets was heard. Restoration had begun. If you were a landscaper, a tree-trimmer, a lawn man, had a chain saw or a truck, you were in great demand. Maybe some would have a better Christmas than they were used to.
But wait a minute. What about the couple, you ask? The lights were off. Their yard was completely covered with limbs, some rising six feet in the air. As the ice melted, limbs crashed on top of what already appeared to be a destroyed yard. The greenhouse, netted with ice-bushes, might go any minute. The beautiful yard, I remembered, was now a disaster zone.
The drive to see them was terribly slow and even though I had a pretty good idea of what I would see, I was still concerned about how they were doing. I pulled into the driveway. After a short conversation with the house pet, Barney, I proceeded to the back yard. I was used to watching them in the yard. They made the perfect couple. But with debris everywhere, and neither one in sight, had I gotten there too late?
Suddenly, the electricity came back on. In the middle of the yard, in spite of all those remnants of an ice storm, there they were. He by her side.
The little metal Christmas reindeer, moving their heads up and down, grazing in the small patch of grass under their feet, their lights blinking were completely unharmed. Always together, whatever came their way.
It was then that I was reminded of my parents, Bill and Mary Lou.
