Month: September 2017

….The rest of the story.

Morning came, September 11, and with it the wind still blew. When would that quit? I thought the storm was past us, but it wasn’t. The peninsula had taken some of the fight out of Irma. She was moving slower now, not as fierce, but still dealing a decent punch. I was weary of wind and wanted it to stop, or at least blow away from the apartment, instead of at us. The power was still out and the temperature inside, though not stifling, was beginning to rise. We opened the doors and windows to get an assist from the wind in keeping things cool. Sometime later that morning the wind shifted, signally that we were now on the back side of Irma. I thought I would be grateful for the respite of branches reaching out to grab at me, but I was reminded of the old adage, “Be careful what you wish for”.

The wind that was offering us some relief from the heat was now blowing away from us, and we began noticing a rise in temperature. Within a few more hours the wind would die completely, and what was my nemesis, now left us forsaken in the rising Florida summer heat. We were adults. We could handle some discomfort, but our 2 year old grandson, Apollo? What about him? The elderly, the young, and the sick suffer the greatest without modern temperature controls, and what is uncomfortable to us, could be deadly to him. Adding to our concerns was Cleo. She’s a bulldog, and can’t regulate her body temperature as well as other dogs. She began to pant heavily. At least the cat, Patches, does better in heat than all of us, but even she was looking for a cooler spot to lay.

We went to work making sure Apollo was hydrated and stayed that way. He would get cool baths, and Cleo got taken outside several times, to have a bucket of water slowly emptied on her to cool her off. The rest of us took cool showers, sometimes more than once a day, and we would monitor each other’s fluid intake to make sure nobody was getting dehydrated. Kim and I grew up in Phoenix. We were no strangers to heat. But, Florida is far from dry and the heat here is like stepping into a sauna, then wrapping yourself in a blanket. It is smothering. Morning turned into night, and still no power.

To add to our worries, Mariah and Aurora were discharged from the hospital late Monday afternoon, into a city where there was no gas and no electricity. Dusty had boarded up their windows before the storm, so there was no option for even a slight breeze. A newborn and a mother recovering from abdominal surgery turned out, because insurance would allow them to stay no longer. That would be another story. I couldn’t really blame the hospital. There were more expectant mothers waiting to get in, and babies don’t wait, but humanitarily it was cruel. Dusty and Mariah, new parents, trying desperately to keep their baby cool, not knowing what to do. She didn’t want to nurse, because the body heat was too great, yet she was hungry. There were enough tears to go around. Mariah called. Her voice in anguish. My heart broke. I couldn’t get to her. Not in the dark. Not with downed trees and power lines, and flooded roadways. All I could do was tell her how to keep Aurora cool, how to stay cool themselves, and assure her they would be alright. I felt helpless and once again I felt like I had abandoned my daughter. The agony of that would not leave me, and I wonder now if it ever will.

Mariah and Dusty fled in search of a hotel that might offer some relief from the heat. They found one, but there was no power there either. However, the room offered a window that could be opened, in hopes of getting a little assistance from the scant breeze there was. How can a storm all about wind speed and rain suddenly leave you with not even a whisper of air? In the dark I texted, “Are you safe”. Mariah texted back, “Yes”. I vowed in the morning I would fix it! I didn’t know how, but I would make everything right! That’s what I do! Damn Irma! The heat pressed down around me all night. Sleep was fitful. Cleo was panting hard again and I got a glass of water to cool her belly. I could hear Apollo in the other room, restless. The heat was getting to be too much.

Tuesday, September 12, and another day with no power. The inside temperature starting higher than the day before and the sun had yet begun to rise. I called my sister in Arizona. Still the middle of the night there, but she was instantly awake. Conserving our cell phone batteries, communication was kept to essential. “Susan, I need a hotel room in Orlando with power and a/c!” We had been 40 hours without power and it wasn’t over, but we were over it. My grandbabies were suffering. I couldn’t let that happen. Not any longer. Not if there was a refuge. Susan went to work. She checked and double checked and made arrangements for us all to run again. This time not from the storm, but from what the storm left behind. I called Mariah, gave her the address, and told her we’d meet them there. I could hear the relief in her as she replied, “As soon as we can find some gas.” That took them 3 hours, but fueled up they were on their way. We all were!

As a family we gathered. Six adults, 1 toddler, 1 newborn, a dog, and a cat! Thank God! Kim and I stepped back to observe the laughter and the hugs. It’s what we needed. To be together. Kim and I held each other and cried. Tomorrow was another day, but today we were all safe, and heaped blessings upon whomever created air conditioning!

For the next three days we rested in Orlando, except Ben, who is a pilot and had to go back to work. I didn’t want to let him go. I just needed us to be together a bit longer. On Thursday, Sept 14, 88 hours after we had lost power, Ben and Becky had it back! She was anxious to get home. Kim went back to Melbourne with her, determined that no one would be alone until we were sure everyone would be okay. No word yet on Mariah and Dusty’s place, and the only promises coming out of Naples was for sometime Sept 22nd! What? Seriously? I couldn’t blame Florida Power and Light, and we had passed convoy after convoy of power trucks coming from other states to help. They were doing their best, and we were grateful, even if we had to wait.

Friday, Sept 15th, Dusty got word from his neighbors that they had power. Time for us to make our way back to Ft. Myers. Gas was still in short supply, so we had to be mindful of the gauge way before fuel was needed. Evidence was all around us of the fury that had ripped through the state six days prior. Twisted and shredded signs and billboards. Uprooted trees. Massive live oaks and mahogany trees that couldn’t withstand the force of nature. Palm trees snapped in half. Fences downed and twisted metal. What would await us?

There was a canyon of debris as we approached their house, but we breathed a sigh of relief. There was screens missing from the pool cage, the back fence was destroyed, quite a few shingles were missing, and in four places Irma attempted to lift the roof, but was unsuccessful. No flooding, no broken windows. A neighbor had an oak resting on the roof. One of Ben’s neighbors had an oak land on his car, smashing it like a toy. There were some mysterious leaves that had been blown inside. We can’t figure out how they came to be, but things were relatively minor compared to what could have been. Now to begin putting everything back together, starting with the refrigerators. With no power for so long everything had to go. Time to start over.

Kim and I went to Naples the following day, Saturday, Sept 16th. Driving south our eyes were large. Everywhere was evidence of Irma’s wrath, but what we were not prepared for was the sight of our neighborhood. Twisted metal, styrofoam, and personal possessions ravaged. Homes plundered by Mother Nature, stripped to their bones. I could bear up no longer, and the tears streamed down my face as I sobbed. I still had no idea how our own home took the storm, but these were our neighbors, and we bore their grief with them. Rounding the corner it was a miracle to see our little home, this old tin can, built in 1976 still standing. She was a bit battered, but where it mattered most, she stood strong.

We had lost several windows in the Florida room, a couple of screens, the shades were shredded, and things weren’t exactly where we had left them, but they were still there. The main part of the house had taken it like a warrior. Only a little water damage from an old leak in the roof. The rest was as we left it. The foliage was battered and thinner, but I’m sure it will all come back. We were lucky. Unbelievably so, especially in light of the carnage that surrounded us. Our next door neighbor had lost her carport. Its roof laying in our yard. The one across the street had a rain gutter impale the roof. The home behind us had the entire side ripped off and I have no idea where his carport is. There were roofs missing, lanais torn off, carports collapsed, some homes were gutted open, as if filleted. There was metal everywhere and the pall of defeat was in the air. Not many people were around. There was still no power, but those that were there were busy gathering up the pieces of broken lives. They are just things, but they meant something to someone.

We still had no power and no clean water. We emptied out the fridge, which I wished I had thought to do before we ran for our lives. I will just say, Yuck! We didn’t stay long, choosing to leave the heavy lifting for when we could get some reprieve from the heat. We stood in our carport, held each other tight, and thanked the Lord for we had been blessed. We do not know why us and not others, but we were thankful, and humbly grateful for all who prayed for us along the way. A special message of gratitude must go out to my sister, Susan, who made things happen, when I couldn’t. And for her generosity and that of my sister, Charlotte, in our time of need. It will never be forgotten. I hope that sometime soon I can stop being afraid of the wind.

It would be 13 days that we would be without power, and 15 that we would be on the run. Some of our neighbors will never be back. Their homes were condemned. I learned a lot. I learned where we fell short, and where we excelled. I plan to put together a hurricane notebook for the next time. And there will be a next time. This is Florida!

It was August 30th when Hurricane Irma formed far away in the Atlantic near Cape Verde, off the coast of Africa. It’s hurricane season. When those “x’s” show up on NOAA’s National hurricane map, I pay attention. The advantage of a hurricane over a tornado is the warning. Tornados offer little. Hurricanes you can see coming, so when it became obvious that Irma was intent on hunting Floridians, we began the process of getting out of her way.

We had a plan and a checklist, and had always said, that if it was a Category 4 or 5 we would leave, but that was before real life dumps ingredients into the best laid plans. Mariah, our daughter was pregnant, and not just pregnant, past due so there would be no running, at least not for her or her husband, and there was no way I was leaving them behind.

Mariah was to be induced on Tuesday, September 5th, but with the storm looming the hospital was saving beds for those that were in active labor. Tuesday became Wednesday, and Wednesday became Thursday. The clock was ticking! Irma was expected on Sunday, September 10th. I figured that if the baby came by Thursday, maybe we would be able to make a run for it on Saturday. But that isn’t what happened.

Kim and I knew we couldn’t stay in our home. We live in Naples, in Zone A, the hot zone for storm surge, and in a mobile home. I felt both glad and guilty that we only rent this old home. We quickly removed everything from the lanai that wasn’t nailed down, stacking it in the Florida room, which was only slightly more secure than the lanai, and piling things we absolutely wanted to save inside the house. Gas was already in short supply, as was water, and we were days before we’d see landfall here in Florida. Store shelves were sparse and we handed the last roll of duct tape to another shopper who needed it more than we did. We packed our suitcase, loaded two boxes with non-perishable food, and important papers, added three cases of water and one of Gatorade to the backseat, made room for Mariah’s dog that we were babysitting, along with our cat. We knew it was likely we wouldn’t have a home to come back to, so we took one last look around, knowing it could very well be the last time we would see our things. None of it mattered, but the photographs, those were hard to place into plastic tubs and walk away from. Locking the door, we were now running, at least as far as Ft. Myers, 50 miles up the road. The plan was to hunker down in Mariah and Dusty’s house and ride it out.

Mariah was finally induced on Thursday, but it wasn’t working. Something was wrong, and by Friday, September 8th, the decision was made that a c-section was necessary. Turns out our little Aurora was playing jump rope with her umbilical cord and had it tangled all around her neck and leg. In the end everyone was safe and healthy and we were blessed, but a c-section meant there would be no running. Not for them.

For awhile it was a bit like playing dodge ball. Would Irma hit Miami and travel up the east coast, or turn west and hit Naples? Friday, September 8th her path became clear. West is was. Our son, Ben, and his family live in Melbourne, on the east coast of the peninsula. They had originally planned to get out, but with everyone trying to escape, it became difficult to find a place to go, and with fuel in short supply, no guarantee you could get there. Instead, they would ride it out with us in Ft. Myers. That was until Irma made the turn! It was too late to run, but they made the decision to stay in Melbourne and Ben called, begging Kim and I to leave Ft. Myers to come to them. He didn’t know if we’d be safe at Mariah’s home. They are in Zone B for storm surge, but they are close to canals, fed by the Caloosahatchee River. That was a concern. Visions of Houston filled my head, and we brought our kayak and life jackets in case they were needed. It was essential to make a decision and soon!

Kim and I waited in the hospital to see our first granddaughter. The excitement of such an event should not be clouded with anxiety about the fury of Mother Nature. We paced as all waiting grandparents do, but we also kept an eye on the enormous windows that belied the tale that was to come. It looked so beautiful, with just a gentle breeze. It was easy to pretend all was right in the world. Finally the moment we set eyes on Aurora. So beautiful, so tiny, so innocent. Mariah looked joyful, though tired. Dusty’s eyes were filled with delight and love. It was surreal in the scope of all that was happening, but that meant nothing to them. They were a family. Kim and I took turns holding Aurora and feeling blessed, and for a few moments family was all we were.

Dusty was worried about us being safe at their house too. He and Mariah wanted us to go to Ben’s. I felt like I was abandoning my daughter. Kim worried about running into car trouble on the road, not being able to find help, not being able to get gas. If there was something to worry about, you can believe we did, but everyone was begging us to leave. We didn’t know if Melbourne would be any safer, but at least it wasn’t in the direct path and Ben lives upstairs. There was some comfort in that! Mariah took my hand, “Mom, we are in the safest place that we can be. You are not abandoning me. Now take my other baby (their bulldog Cleo) and run!”

After only a few minutes of baby cuddling time, Kim and I did just that. We went back to their house, scrambling to gather up the rest of the stuff that needed securing before the storm, unplugging appliances and lamps, throwing photo albums up high and under cover in case they get hit with flooding. We left food and water behind for them, so they would have supplies when they got home. Gathering up the pets once again, we locked the doors and fled!

Driving from the west side of the peninsula to the east side, in the dark, with occasional flashes of lightning that illuminated foreboding clouds, warning of what was to come, lit the fires of urgency, but the road was eerie. Stores were closed, including fast food. Gas stations closed, pumps wrapped in plastic to protect electronics and keep nozzles from lashing out in the wind. There were few people on the road and those that were, were like us, trying to get out of the way.

Irma sparked the largest mass evacuation in Florida history. Not only was she bearing down as an unprecedented Cat 5, with a sustained wind speed of 185 mph, she was large, spanning 300 miles. At its widest part, the peninsula is only 160 miles across. It really didn’t matter where you were. If you were on the peninsula you’d be impacted, it was just a matter of degree.

We drove on through the dark, merged onto I-95 to a surreal situation. Six lanes nearly devoid of traffic! It was like the rapture had happened and we were the few left behind. At 11:30 p.m. we made it to Melbourne. Exiting the freeway I saw the most fantastic sight! An open gas station and they had gas! We stopped to gas up, not knowing when we would encounter more fuel, or when we would need it. We were taking no chances and nothing for granted.

Arriving at Ben’s we were finally able to breathe more deeply, lay our heads upon our pillows and rest. Tomorrow would be another day of prepping, making sure we had covered our bases and were ready for whatever Irma could throw at us. I knew Mariah and her family would be safe inside hospital walls, now it was good to be with Ben and his family. No matter what, I knew we were stronger together.

Sunday, September 10th, like most we were glued to the Weather Channel. In hours Irma would show Florida what she was made of. Overnight Cuba had taken a swing at her and we cheered as those blessed tall mountains of the island did what they could to tear Irma apart, but she was still coming. So, we waited, turned the a/c up, knowing eventually we would lose it and wanting the apartment to be as cool as possible when it happened, lined up the flashlights, and the candles. We were ready.

Irma walloped the Keys as a Cat 4 and then made second landfall on Marco Island, 8 miles due south of our home in Naples as a Cat 3, but still recording wind gusts of 145 mph! We were in line for a direct hit. The Weather Channel had people on the ground and as luck would have it, there was a storm chaser parked just outside our neighborhood, waiting for the northern eye wall. He would not be disappointed. We saw no way our home would survive and I began to cry. Mariah and Dusty sent pictures of them now camped in the hospital hallway, away from all windows. Things in Naples were turning from bad to worse and all we could do was wait.

We fixed a hot supper, knowing it might be awhile before we could cook again. The wind had begun to gust in Melbourne, and the rain had started to squall. I heard a loud crack and turned in time to see a huge tree come crashing through the bushes toward us like a T-rex on rampage, as it had broken in half and toppled over, just missing Ben’s lanai. There would be more than one tree snapped in half, or completely uprooted in the neighborhood before it was over.

Time and again the lights flickered through dinner. Each time we’d breathe a sigh of relief as they came back on. At 7:30 p.m. it went dark for good. They would not come back on for another 88 hours. Soon the emergency alerts started going off on our phones. Tornado warnings, the unpleasant byproduct of a hurricane, as if sustained monster winds were not bad enough! We finally had to turn the alert system off. They were sounding every few minutes. It was unnerving and there was not a thing we could do about it. This is Florida, not Kansas! You won’t find a cellar anywhere here. There is no safe place to be. The best we could do was move away from the windows and put it in the hands of God. One natural disaster at a time, please!

I lay on the floor in the dark. I listened as the wind lashed out at the trees and drove the rain. Trees buckled and fell, yet Irma kept coming, and coming, and coming. When would it end? Because I couldn’t do anything else, I texted my sister at 1:30 a.m., her time and simply said, “I can no longer stand the wind”.

….To be continued