I have some experience with big storms. I am no weather expert but life here in the hurricane magnet of the Universe has been rich in hurricane events.
I experienced the catastrophic landfall event we call "Hugo" years ago....watching a a hurricane that had seemed to be nothing about me turn into a missile with my name on it....striking at my brother to the South and my mother to the North and with my little town in its sights, blasting straight up the interstate highway to my very home. Exploding transformers. Splattering mobile homes. Taking down protected forests and casting tornadoes across my state in every direction. We here in South Carolina were stunned by Hugo. It was a mega-maniacal beast of a storm.
Harvey out in Texas made our Hugo look like a spiteful child's tantrum.
But the fear of the storm is as bad as the event, as bad as the recovery, isn't it? Like this bad boy Harvey. Watching it's vastness approach. Comparing it's progress to the spaghetti string paths of projections. Glued to the TV as it rages. Rescues and aftermath running continuous images that break the heart. Then having a bit of the drama brought straight to you from halfway across the country in the spin-off weather bands containing violent thunderstorms and "conditions favorable for the formation of tornadoes".
We were flooded the past two years as a result of hurricanes Joaquin and Matthew, which came calling at the coast of Carolina and just hung around and stayed and dumped water until our little rivers could not hold another drop.
I am my Mother's caregiver. Both times as those storms approached our coast I weighed the need to leave Mom's house and get her to safer shelter. Neither time did it seem that we were likely to get major trouble from these Atlantic storms. They were fairly small. They were predicted to go elsewhere. Then they turned and it was too late to get out of the way. Small or not they brought water.
Both times I woke up the morning after the storm to find water up the front steps and fish swimming in the yard. Fridge flipped over and floating around in the garage. Power out. Messy, destruction, stink, ruin of much of mom's property. Both events were scary as hell but each time I got Mom out dry, with the help of rescuers.
I never had to climb out the window holding her and try to float us up onto the roof to wait for our rescuers to come with a helicopter. Watching those rescues and hearing the stories of what people had to find the courage to do to get to safety made me cry and filled me with fear.
Fear, fear, fear, fear...like sirens in my brain and chest. I was talking to somebody about Hurricane Irma, as it approached just days after Harvey had hammered the state of Texas and I could hardly talk because my teeth were chattering. (I never knew that was a real thing)
Because even though we have done this before, my mother is 89, in a wheelchair, fragile-boned, on continuous oxygen, a hospice patient. There is a lot to consider in her case. Is it safer for her to try to stay put even though we have had to be evacuated in the past?
The thing about fear...we need a bit of fear, but it tends to stupify and paralyze us. Fear can work its way into the space in our minds that could be used better for finding solutions. It can make us selfish too. Thinking of saving our own hides. Devil take the ones behind us.
Then, in the midst of planning and preparations for our getaway this week I came across my green rubber boots.
Last year, after Matthew did it's mess on Mom's place and I was facing going back there to begin cleaning up, my husband made me buy the boots. At first I resisted because they were not cute and did not look comfortable.
Let me tell you about comfortable.
When you have to work in muck that looks and smells worse than sewage; when you have to walk across water you just saw a snake swim through, when you have to put your foot in a dark place and you have no idea what might be in there...a pair of knee high boots feels just about like heaven.
Finding those boots. Cleaning them. Stacking them on my readiness pile. These calmed me.
I knew I would be able to face the days ahead because I knew that when the time came I would put on my boots and get Mom out and when the time came I would be able to walk back in and start the clean up.
Fear was put behind me and I got back to the serious work of getting ready. Oh and I prayed. Boots can only do so much. But being more calm helped my brain work better to get us as prepared as possible. I was also better able to think past our personal needs and give some thought to the needs of others. I am pretty sure that thinking about others helps turn the tide on fear.
Another thing about storms and fear is that they pass. Once they do you can emerge from your shelter, assess the damage, put on your boots and start repairs. Then you can reach out to your neighbors. Offer them your hands. Be a human being. Like all those rescuers in Texas. Like the electric company linemen who worked all night those nights this week so we would have power. Like the first responders working so hard now in Florida.
This storm, Irma, thankfully, passed Mom's place by unharmed. When I got up Tuesday morning the swamp was where it belonged. (Not in Mom's yard.) The trees were standing. My car was where I left it. I got down on my knees and thanked God for this great mercy. Then we tried to touch base with all our people and learned they had come through with minimal damage. Blessings upon blessings.
There is one thing more I want to say about these big catastrophic storms. They are necessary it seems. Last year, a scientist told me that hurricanes are nature's way of cooling things off here on Earth. Like big turbines fanning heat off our oceans. Maybe they work some of the heat off we humans as well.
Over the last weeks we have watched people set aside fear, anger and dissension and go help each other. Other people witnessed and photographed and shared this phenomenon. We saw and felt better about human kind. Something to think about.
Well put my dear!
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