After learning that Hurricane Irma would hit us only at a category 1 storm, I wasn’t exactly shaking in my boots. However, I quickly discovered that I was wrong to not be scared. On Sunday, Sept. 10, I learned that although one may be well prepared for the physical damage that may come, you can never be truly ready for the toll that impending chaos can take on your sense of security.
The last major storm that I can vaguely recall experiencing was Hurricane Frances, which struck in 2004. Aside from spending a sweltering 5 days without running water or electricity, Frances didn’t seem to me the frightening phenomenon that the weathermen had foretold. I scoffed at Irma once I saw that she had been reduced to a middling category 1. Like Frances, I figured she was all bark and no bite. But Irma ended up biting pretty hard.
In the days leading up to Irma’s arrival, the folks and I stocked up on all the necessities. Food, water, flashlights, etc. We’d filled the bathtub up to the brim, along with several pitchers and empty jugs so that we’d have a surplus of water to fill the back of the toilet tank with to allow us to continue to use the facilities. While dear old dad and I busied ourselves outside removing objects that could get lifted by the wind, mom worked diligently indoors converting our hall closet into a sort of safe room should we need new shelter. By all accounts, we were ready.
The big day finally arrived and our little family huddled in the living room glued to the television, diligently tracking Irma’s trajectory, speed, and size. After an hour or so of flickering, the power finally went out around 8 p.m. Sitting in total darkness while the wind picked up outside and without the reliable weatherman’s words of reassurance, that’s when one’s courage begins to falter. Everything seems scarier when veiled in darkness. Suddenly, the wind wasn’t just blowing, it was howling, screaming. The rain wasn’t just falling, it was pounding.
With nothing to distract you but the sounds of chaos ensuing just beyond the safety of your 4 walls, reality hits harder than the rain on your rooftop. The full extent of the situation, of the danger, is all at once blindingly visible and before you know it, you’re running from room to room reevaluating the strength of every single window and door. I was in full-on panic mode within half an hour after losing electricity. All my senses were on red alert, which is why I was the first one in the house to hear the dripping.
One of our kitchen ceiling tiles had sprung a leak. I watched, utterly dumbfounded, as in a matter of minutes it evolved from a rhythmic dripping into a steady stream of water, the tile drooping. Barely an hour later, the tile collapsed under the weight of the water and crashed with a wet thud to the floor. Two more tiles had also begun bowing. As I began covering the kitchen floor with towels to catch the falling water, I started doing math in my head, never a good idea for me. If the hurricane is outside, but water is coming inside, then that means…oh, my gosh, the roof is gone!
I didn’t sleep a wink that night. Instead, I laid awake in fear that my entire house would come crashing down around me. A few days before, a family friend had told us that when she was a child, her parents had told her that if she didn’t behave during the storm, the hurricane was going to get her. And thinking back to that, I began to feel that Irma was this ravenous beast and my family and I were its prey. It was outside stalking us, taunting us, before it finally could sink its claws into us. By 3 a.m., I had literally worried myself sick.
When a storm traps you inside, it’s the waiting that does you in. The thinking of those terrible thoughts and not being able to peek outside to confirm those fears. When Monday morning rolled around and the worst had passed, my folks and I went outside to assess the damage. Luckily for us, the house was still standing, roof intact, and the worst of the debris was a couple hundred severed tree branches littering the yard. We’d caught the mother of all lucky breaks.
We spent the following 3 days without electricity. We lugged bucket after bucket of water in from our swimming pool to refill the emptying bathtub. We even resorted to bathing in the pool when that icky, unshowered feeling finally overwhelmed us, an activity I pray that I never have to do again.
Though they’d reduced me to a basket case only days ago, the events of Irma feel like nothing to me now. Still, I will never underestimate the power of a hurricane ever again. The next time a category 1 rolls around, I plan on leaving home to seek better shelter. If a category 5 decides to pay us a visit, I’m leaving the state.
