It’s been one month since the hurricane hit. About this time of night Sander and I were in our hotel bed, in a pitch black room, newly grasping the meaning of the word “terrified.” The brutal first wave of the storm was making landfall right on top of us. Our entire wing of the hotel was shaking like an earthquake. The wind sounded like a giant freight train spinning around our heads. Rain was pummeling the building, driven by 125 mph sustained winds and seeping into the room through cracks in the doors and windows. The toilet was bubbling and the floor was flooded. You could hear the thick terracotta tiles being ripped off the roof overhead, and various projectiles slamming against the walls. I thought the building was going to collapse. We were on the top floor. I expected to die. We didn’t die. For the rest of the night and for four more days we endured the disaster and its aftermath with adrenaline on high and survival instincts fully engaged. No communications, no electricity, debris everywhere, roads impassable, airport shut down. Bugs crawling around in our room. One third of the ceiling gone. But we got through it and eventually we got out. Now what? When you come down off the adrenaline high, the constant fight-or-flight instinct, the fear of the unknown, the simmering terror that underlies your every waking and sleeping moment – you try to make sense out of the experience. I guess that’s what I’m doing now. I’ve learned a few things, for sure. I know now what it’s like to live through a natural disaster and navigate the destruction it leaves behind. I understand the fear, helplessness and depression. Feeling those things has made me more compassionate toward those who experience crises like war, disease outbreaks and other catastrophic events. I want to hug them all and reassure them it will be alright, even though it might not be, and even when it doesn’t always feel like it – during the event and afterward. I empathize more than ever. I’ve learned that I can be pretty creative and resourceful when I need to be. So is my husband. He will find candles on a hallway wall sconce, so we can have light in our room. He will break into mini-bars to find us food (and beer). I’ll locate the maid’s closet and raid the cleaning supplies so our room doesn’t literally smell like shit. We work really well as team. I am strong in a crisis. I know this because Sander tells me so. I’m kind of proud of that. He, too, was incredibly strong. Even though he was also terrified, he kept me calm. He tried to make me laugh (with varying degrees of success). He held my hand and kept hope alive when I couldn’t. The things I already knew and loved about him became amplified: He is a caretaker, a smart man, the best friend to have around when everything sucks. I reaffirmed that I picked the right partner to be with in life, because if we can get through a hurricane, we can do anything. As we said in our wedding vows just a week before the storm – we are stronger together. I’ve learned that you meet the best people at the worst times. When we finally ran to safety in the shelter, our new friend Kristen met us at the doorway and said, “Over here, we saved you a space.” I don’t think I will ever be greeted so perfectly again in my entire life. (If I failed to cry tears of relief then, I’m making up for it now.) After the storm, she and her husband gave us one of their two Coleman lanterns, because our hotel room was terrifyingly dark at night. Our motley crew of two couples soon became three, then we took in a woman traveling alone, then another couple joined us on evacuation day. These people exuded humor, cleverness, kindness, generosity, resourcefulness, intelligence and the ability to distract us from the situation at hand. I would call this love. We have made friends for life. I have also come to understand and appreciate the psychological effects of trauma. Your brain and body don’t just breathe a sigh of relief after a disaster and – poof – everything is okay. There will be flashbacks and nightmares and never enough sleep. You will feel jumpy for no reason. You fear small things such as a gust of wind, which to you is actually a very big thing. Depression is real. I have a new respect for PTSD. I am still learning to appreciate the struggle as I work my way through the aftereffects, but every day I feel less traumatized. I’m healing. That leads to the biggest blessing: I feel hopeful again. When there is literally no light, when you realize that your world can snap in an instant, when you feel entirely vulnerable and there is no escape – it’s easy to lose sight of that. Thanks to Hurricane Odile, I’ve experienced some of life’s worst moments. But I’ve also experienced some of life’s best. So yeah, we didn’t die. Now what? I don’t know. But I’ve learned I can probably get through it, whatever it is. And I’ll come out the other side with blessings I wasn’t expecting.
Posted on: Wed, 15 Oct 2014 00:44:03 +0000
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