And then the hurricane

I have signed off of Facebook for a little while but not for the reasons given by most.  I love my ten thousand friends.  I do feel connected somehow to most of them.  Each has been with me either physically or spiritually or emotionally at some time or other in my life.  When the time comes to unhook some of those "friends" I do so quietly and truthfully, they have rarely realized it.  I have not signed off to say goodbye to my friends, to my support.  I have signed off to help me regroup, to think, to rest after the trauma and drama of Hurricane Irene.


When we were living in Barbados, Tropical Storm Tomas hit us fast and furious and left us without power for days.  The experience was stunning and surreal, the lush vegetation of the island seemingly taking over where we were trying to live.  No power meant no air conditioning in a sweltering tropical climate, and though we fared better with running water never being disrupted, many on the island were without water, electricity, rooftops for days.  The reaction of an island nation to such a storm and that of the New Jersey town to which we have recently relocated were hugely different.  In both places, water, candles, flashlights, and batteries were sold out immediately, as well as copious amounts of alcohol, snack foods, and tubs for storing water.  But in New Jersey, there was a line out the door at Home Depot for generators.  The idea of being without power for even a second too much to bear.  There was a fear of flooded basements, which I totally understood, and which was certainly possible, more likely probable. And with sky high mortgages, rents, and expensive possessions in finished basements, it made total sense to try to protect those things.


I don't want to say that my attitude was blase, but in Barbados I had been afraid for my life, like if something really serious were to happen that other than being evacuated, we might not survive.  While I know the same thing could be said of certain locations in the States, I just felt more secure this time around.  As we drove from location to location seeking out flashlights and batteries, all of our batteries having been removed from all products by the Bajan moving team to prevent explosions in our container traveling back to the States, I remained relatively calm as each store announced "Sold Out" from front doors at at cash registers. 


My friend Amy had a flashlight and she is excellent company.  As my husband would be going to work hours before the hurricane was to hit and would more than likely be stranded in the city, I chose Amy and her family.  Safety in numbers, someone to drink with, someone to talk to, someone to look to when the windows began to rattle and it seemed the rain would drown us all.  The lead up day was uneventful.  I let the girls go to the playground, work out the energy, eat lunch at our place, hang out in the nude as they are wont to do.  I did all the laundry, cleaned the house, ran the dishwasher, and packed an incredible overnight bag that could have had us at Amy's place for two weeks.  I packed the car with water and food, a portable DVD player charged for eight hours, twelve if watched with dim lighting, and drove over to Amy's at about 5:45 pm just in time for dinner.

The girls never really understood why we were heading over to Auntie Amy's, but they did know it would be lots of fun and it was.  Food, wine, iPad games, TV, other kids to play with.  Nevermind the hurricane soon to be roaring our way, we were having a sleepover!  But the hurricane did come, creeping in some time in the middle of the night.  By the time all of our eyes were opened, the electricity had gone out, there was water in the basement, tree limbs had been strewn around the neighborhood.  When the call came in for water to be stored in pots to be boiled for future use, I figured I needed to get home quickly to see what was still standing at our brand new place.

On the drive home, I noticed many downed branches, stopped traffic lights, pools of water where just yesterday there'd been fields.  When I was unable to make a turn down a main street to get home, I realized we might be in for some trouble.  At the house, a river, formerly a creek, was raging at the edge of the back door, like Roaring Rapids that ride at Six Flags Great Adventure, but this didn't look like too much fun.  I was scared out of my wits and thought for a second of not even going in, but I had to see that the place was alright.  I knocked on the door my neighbor downstairs and discovered her door unlocked and she nowhere to be found.  I ran upstairs, started running water in the tub, filling pots and pans, discovered that we still had electricity but no phone, cable, or internet.  I grabbed food, toys, and ballet costumes for the girls, took some pictures, and got the heck out of Dodge. 

Hours later, I found out that the street had been evacuated in the middle of the night due to the rising flood waters and that my neighbor had gone to safer ground.  My house had been spared a loss of electricity while Amy had to wait days for electricity and water to return.  The town was divided by people with services and those without.  As we were on the same part of the grid as the fire station, it was essential that our power remain strong, much like we were meant to get power quickly in Barbados because we were on the same grid as some of the more upscale hotels and resorts.  Our cable, phone, and internet were sporadically connected and there was mud and everywhere but in general, we were not worse for the wear.  Even with my husband still in the city, where he would remain for five days, I felt confident that I could take care of the girls in our home all by myself. I was tearful and often fearful, still stinging psychologically from the stress of Tomas in Barbados, but the playground still had to get played on and the park still had to be trampled.  We even went out as the sun came up the day after the hurricane.

We survived the hurricane.  We were surviving.  And then I stood at the edge of the park trying to enroll Lily in soccer camp when I turned to pick her up and hurt my back so badly I could not walk, well unless, babystepping all the way home is considered walking.  Two chiropractor visits, ice, heating pads, and lots of drugs later, I am sitting in my hurricane-spared home in excruciating pain.  The hurricane stirred up all kinds of feelings and memories and thoughts of attachment, abandonment, connection, love, and friendship and just in case I was going to miss this message, miss this sign, I have been felled.

Sitting on my bed with a heating pad on my back, thinking, contemplating, considering, I needed the quiet, needed to hear myself so that I could be sure the decisions I made for my future were my own.  So that the next hurricane could swirl around outside of me, but that I would not be moved inside, spurned to hysteria, lost.


(c)  Copyright 2011.  City Mom in the Jungle.


To refresh your memory, see the post dated November 4, 2010 about Tropical Storm Tomas.