This is how we hurricane

October 2018

Monday morning: Kids packing list. My packing list. Dog packing list. Prized possession list. House list. Hang storm shutters. Hear a crash, my elderly neighbor just fell from her ladder while hanging storm shutters. My husband and two other neighbors rush to her and finish her house in minutes because, “many hands...” and all that. Back to the lists. They have been a running joke my entire life. I’m a type A list-maker. My husband says he thinks the lists make me crazy. I retort, the lists keep my crazy at bay. My mind wanders. My eldest daughter sits at our dining table coloring with a weightless smile while the news warns of the doom swirling towards our first home built just two years ago. My lip quivers ever so slightly. Shake my head. Nope, not right now. There’s too much to do. 4 of my 7 lists are completed. The husband has one more night shift and then the storm will be here. I can finish these lists while he’s at work. I am superhuman. He will be impressed. We are Floridians after all, this is nothing new. “Never has a storm this strong hit this part of Florida...” lip quiver. Nope, not yet. Too much to do. Phone call from his boss says do not come in. “Get out of town!” Oh. Well. Ok. Text furiously with friends and family. My sister is only three hours north, that’ll work. So instead of a night to prep, we now have one hour to button up the house, pack for a week-long stay somewhere and who knows what if anything we will come back to so I need to take all the sentimental stuff. But we only have ... thank heavens we have...a minivan to pack everything I love and hold dear. Prioritize. 1 husband, 2 daughters, 1 dog and some “stuff”. Traffic is chaos. Like Fourth of July weekend on any beach anywhere. Baby is crying, kid is bored and hungry, husband is white-knuckled on the steering wheel, dog is whining and I’m praying my beautiful family

Home is still standing in a few days. This is how we hurricane, in Florida.

My sister’s home is beautiful. Spacious and expertly appointed. She is also a wonderful mom and now grandmother. This was an easy decision for me. I mean, mid-Georgia is always safe...was always safe. Hurricane Michael had quite the backbone though. Time for more lists.

Storm day: my sister and I hit the gym because what better way to burn off some anxiety?! We head to target for the last two things we need. Nope! Ghost town. No worries. Minor things. We are strong women, we can do this. Home to prep all of the meals, all of the house and all of the coffee to survive what could be a few days without power. Michael finds his way to Albany and cuts a swath thru a city that was never built to withstand Gail force winds. A crash on the roof sends my five year old into my arms, shaking. The first of many pine trees is down mere inches from the porch. Then another. Then another. Into the night the howling and cracking continues. Sometime around 9pm the noise gives way to quiet. We all go to bed because when the still of the eye is over you, you take advantage. This is how we hurricane, in Georgia.

Thursday morning: we emerge from a powerless house into the still of a sunny day. I chuckle thinking we look like we just emerged from a bender in a Vegas casino. Every jaw stands agape. Albany is in shambles. Trees down everywhere. So many pine needles you cannot tell what is pavement and what is not. City water is shut off. Cell towers are out. “We are now an island” I say to my sister. “Time to make a list.” She smiles and we get to work.

In a matter of a few hours we both accept the reality that we cannot stay. We cannot wait it out. We have to leave. She heads north to her in laws, we head south to my parents. Refugees. Evacuees. Nomads. All roads to our home are closed. Going home is not an option. So we sit on a grassy patch outside of chik fil a just off the interstate and strategize while our daughters play and our dog calms her nerves. Deep sadness bubbles out of my eyes. I have held it together for months thru work schedules, kindergarten adjustments, sickness, teething, death of friends, major surgeries for family and now a hurricane wiping out half of my city. Today, the weight becomes too much. So I sit in a grassy patch eating Gods chicken and cry. This is how we hurricane, now.