There is so much I see in this picture. I see faith. I see hope. I see a humble heart. I see a book that could be any bible. Maybe it's Hebrew. Maybe it's Latin. Maybe its the Koran. I have no idea but, what I do know, is the power of being able to have faith, hope and a humble heart in the midst of a monster like Hurricane Ian.
Hurricane Ian has been and, I assume, will be a life altering event forever in the hearts of thousands. I don't have a harrowing story of riding out the storm on a sailboat like my neighbors and friends Chuck and Diane or Pat and her husband who, at ninety three years old, were rescued at minute ninety nine. What I do have is my own personal journey with the Beast that ravaged and tore to pieces my dreams in a twelve hour period.
On Wednesday, September 28, 2022 I waited
for what was to be the most horrific flood in more than 500 years in Florida and, maybe in the entire United States. As I devoured all the information they had at the time, the Wink News was my life line to my parents. They had evacuated from the Florida coast inland thirty miles, but were no way out of its path. I was safe in California with my dog and my husband. My children were safe in their homes, not in Florida. My parents and my beloved beach cottage were in the direct path of this Monster they were calling Ian. I was frozen with fear. Fear for the safety of my family and friends. Fear for my little cottage that was literally the only place in this world that I had found peace, ever in my entire life of fifty ones years. It was the place that grounded me. It was the place that calmed my spirit. It was the place I loved to write and the place I called home.
As I watched, I saw its path was shifting. Tampa freeways were packed as the storm raged ahead. At the last minute, Ian turned its path directly to my beloved Fort Myers Beach and all the surrounding barrier Islands. I was helpless. We all were. I called my mom and dad several times. Mom was full of fear as the sky darkened and the wind allowed the windows to breath in and out with the force. Dad slept, appearing to have given in to the storm. Then the power went out. Wink News was now flooded as they were broadcasting live. The station went blank and my prayers were not answered. The storm had hit. It was slow moving and churned over our homes and businesses and our community for about twelve hours. Now, I would have to wait.
I woke several times that night checking the news and text messages. As the sun rose, so did our knowledge of just how bad it was. It was the images I will never forget. The devastation was like nothing we could have ever imagined. Our sweet, old school Florida community was gone. Not just torn up, but completely demolished. Our homes were flattened if not washed away. There were no streets. The shrimp boats that were docked on San Carlos Island, my little island I loved, were landlocked like a toy boat had been thrown by a toddler throwing a fit. There was only rubble left of our community from the force of over fifteen foot storm surges with winds pushing the Gulf of Mexico over our lives at over one hundred and fifty miles per hour.
So, in this storm of a lifetime and in the loss of a lifetime, literally for so many, there are rays of hope. The beautiful skies returned to South West Florida the very next day, as if Mother Nature wanted to make sure we knew her force but we also knew her beauty and would never take it for granted again. After that dreadful day, came hope through miracles unexpected yet so much needed.
I believe we see the hearts of those around us when it is such a time as this. When the shit hits the fan, and all we can do is help each other, fight for whats ours or just run and hide, hearts are exposed. The hearts of the residents and those who have ever fell in love with Southwest Florida were so wide open. Willing to help a neighbor whose water line was broke and was over 3,000 miles away. The neighbors who scoured the neighborhood as the storm surge rose as they were aware of those that stayed. The friends who called and texted knowing full well what we had endured and were left with only words of love to give. The people who reached out to others without knowing them and offered shelter, food and water. The crews that came in to bring water and ice and a hugs to those with what we now call "hurricane brain". Zombies of a Holocaust we could have never imagined. Groups who came like the FEMA workers who handed out water that was cold with no refrigeration for weeks. The Red Cross that drove through neighborhoods handing out hot meals.
Residents were stranded as they not only lost their homes and boats but cars as well. Ian left nothing behind. No stone was unturned and no amount of money mattered to this monster. Ian showed its strength and what happened after, was the strength of the residents of Southwest Florida to say no more. We wont be beaten. We wont let the destruction win. We wont turn a cheek and selfishly take care of ours and ours alone. We are one. We are stronger in numbers. We not only know what each other has gone through, we are literally walking in each others shoes. We don't cry for what we lost. We cry for the loss of us all.
Miracles happen daily here now. Maybe they always have but today, we are more aware than ever of our need for hope in miracles in the midst of a monster.