On Thursday, I started watching the weather radar for the Houston area. We were planning a trip to see our son and his family, and I wanted to keep the weather in mind. Spring is a fickle time in Texas, so I was hoping I’d see a forecast of sunny days and no rain.

            That wasn’t the case.

            The weather channels called for a 100 percent chance of showers with two to five inches of rain over the weekend.

Words like “Armageddon” and “shelter-in-place” were featured along with big red circles of damaging rains and winds radiating out from the middle of Houston almost all the way to San Antonio.

            I prayed, I bargained, I made a pact with the powers that be to change the forecast. During a conversation with my son, I told him we might not be able to come if the weather was bad because I didn’t want to drive through a torrential rainstorm with his four precious children in the car.

            For two days, I fretted and worried and watched the weather channel. On Saturday, my son and I decided the weather was going to be too bad so we’d get together another time.

In a way, I was relieved because we wouldn’t have to face the flooding and treacherous conditions on the roadways.

            On Sunday morning, I awoke to some sprinkles.

            “The worst is yet to come,” I thought as I looked at the weather radar for the hundredth time that morning. There was a huge line of squalls to the west of us, but nothing to the east.

            Breakfast came and the sprinkles stopped. Lunch came and the sun came out. I thought about going out and running errands, but the weatherman’s promise of Armageddon kept me inside.

            Throughout the afternoon and evening, I’d look out the window and kick myself for letting fear put the brakes on my plans.

             All my life, I’ve let the “that might happen” stop me from doing what I wanted to do. I’m not talking about driving to the beach when a hurricane’s blowing in from the Gulf. It’s the threat of “that could be bad” that always gets in my way.

             The next day, I saw a post on Facebook that my sister’s house in Alexandria, La. had flooded. The storm that bypassed us hit them like Thor’s hammer, and they unexpectedly got over three inches of water in their home.

               Surprisingly, Diane said they were lucky – they’d have to replace the floors and the carpeting, and she needed new floors anyway. There’s a photo of Diane and her husband in their front yard wearing rain boots, standing in ankle-deep flood water with big smiles on their faces.

                They were smiling through the catastrophe because, as my sister said, there was nothing they could do about what happened. She said crying wasn’t going to dry up that water or get her carpets pulled up and she had to look on the positive side.

                  After hearing her laughing that they could still run the air conditioner and sit on their couch – even though there was an inch of rain underneath their furniture – made me ashamed that I’d worried myself out of time with my family because of a “what if.”

                   The “what if” happened to her and she accepted what happened, rolled up her sleeves and got to work without whining or complaining.

                   I’ve always thought my sister was incredible, and I’m convinced she’s more than that. She’s also a realist who taught me a valuable lesson – when life gives you lemons, cut those babies up, put them in a pitcher with a little bit of medicinal vodka and crank up the music.

                   And keep on living.

 This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.