Nothing feels the same here. Chinooks fly over our houses. SWAT vehicles roll down the streets. Military trucks and personnel are common sights. I greatly appreciate their presence, but it’s not something that we ever saw before. Each time I hear or see them, I remember once more that everything is different.
Given the inaccessibility of the roads, the potential unavailability of the staff, and, in some cases, the flooding of the campuses themselves, school has yet to get started. Consequently I have enrolled the kids in impromptu day camps that sprung up to avert further local disasters (the kinds that spontaneously occur when your kids have been home too long and repetitively utter that most dangerous of phrases… “I’m bored.”).
We have been in a collective daze struggling just to remember what day it is, but time has most certainly taken on a new distinction. There is time before the storm came through, and then there is every moment after that. Even our weather reports have changed. We watch river, reservoir and bayou cresting reports. We know our specific location elevations and where our properties fall with regard to those crests. We pray for Hurricane Irma to miraculously disappear into nothingness as we can’t even contemplate the concept of going through this again. It’s terrifying. Merely typing the thought of it makes my pulse quicken, and I feel myself growing anxious.
I’m angry because I can’t sleep, and although I want to see the news discussing storm predictions, the Weather Channel is showing a fluffy program that sensationalizes storm chasing instead. I don’t want to search the internet because it will lead me to further sad stories about people returning to their destroyed homes all around the Houston area. I just want the basics on the current storm predictions. The other major channels are consumed with gazillionaires yapping away about nothing while laughing at their own hollow tales.
Where is the latest hurricane going to go? Why don’t they recognize what this will mean? Don’t they understand what could happen to their family and friends? Don’t they know that the stats become irrelevant the moment you find yourself living in the impossible?
No. They don’t. We didn’t either. But once you live it, you can’t forget it. No matter how much you want to, you can’t shake the reality that although it may be unlikely, it could happen again.
I’m waiting for the waters to recede all over town as I struggle to return to regular life via some kind of predictable schedule. I went to the grocery store yesterday evening for the first time since the storm. I found myself feeling irrationally angry at the other shoppers casually milling around the isles. They were loading up their carts like nothing had changed. I just couldn’t wrap my thoughts and emotions around that most innocuous of moments. Why were we restocking our refrigerators while our neighbors were busy pulling out sopping carpets and destroyed sheetrock? Had everyone already forgotten the loss all around us? Was I the only one who felt that thick ache in my chest? I plastered on a smile to veil the heaviness in my heart and guard me from the threat of tears. Maybe they did, too.
Today I began to tackle the work that stacked up in my absence over the past week and a half. My head felt cloudy, and I struggled throughout the entire day to remain focused. All I could think about was the relief work around me. I want to be actively helping families rebuild their lives, but there is a part of me that recognizes that I must also address my own. I don’t desire to further elevate the trauma of it all. I just don’t know how to release it.
I’ve never been a big fan of normal, but I now feel like I’m floating through surreality. I want to clear the haze and move past the confusion. I want to rise above the heaviness of this moment and fix the pain. Mine. Theirs. All who are hurting.
It comes in waves. I see tremendous beauty in the strength and unity of my town, state, and fellow man. But I can’t talk about it. Not yet. I can’t get into the emotion of it all – good or otherwise. I keep the conversation on the surface and seek humor where I can.
I hope that peace will find its way into in my heart and into the hearts of all affected by the storm. I pray deeply for the safety of those in the path of this and all other destructive hurricanes to come. They change you. They change everything.
Joshua 1:9 – “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”
Much love to you. Joanna
Momentum of Joy 