Living in South Florida, the beginning of hurricane season is as mundane and daunting as back-to-school. One look at the calendar tells us the days are approaching, yet we never quite know entirely what’s in store.
I try to ignore much of the media hype surrounding both. ‘Back to school sales’ especially bring me memories of stocking up with both of my boys; choosing backpacks, checking off items on teachers’ lists, longer each year. I watch the families chattering in the aisles with a certain envy. It seems like yesterday that I was browsing the bookstore with Lucas, on his college campus, looking for that special item for him, and a small souvenir for me. My son, a college student!
In the last few days, headlines of an approaching tropical depression have dominated the media. Yesterday, I bravely headed into the storm, echoing my mother: “a little rain never hurt anyone! I’m waterproof!” Ten minutes later I was back home, chastened by the cars off the road (drivers couldn’t see the lines due to the pounding rain), traffic lights out, and roads turned to waterways. My oldest son and I watched the drama play out from the comfort and safety of our recliner chairs, hot coffee in hand. Still, I told myself, “what’s a little wind and rain?”
This morning we had the answer, in the shape of a hole in the ceiling of one of the bedrooms. My nemesis, the popcorn ceiling, sparkled like icy snow in jagged chunks, covering the bookcase, floor, windowsill. Who knew that four square feet of ceiling–Sheetrock, plaster, & insulation–could be so heavy?
Friends and family offered advice, referrals (of contractors and companies) and sympathy. They were surprised at my stoicism. Yes, it will be a costly headache, a hassle, just one more thing to do before a planned trip. But I can’t summon the energy to FEEL upset, or shocked, or angry … at Mother Nature, or even at the roofer who left a smidgen of a gap between the tiles, where the water gradually seeped through. As I told one of the Vilomahs from my bereavement group, “I don’t worry about the small stuff anymore. And after losing a child, everything –by comparison– is small.”
The outer-lying bands of the system that soaked South Florida has become tropical storm Hermine, causing havoc along the Gulf Coast, flooding streets and homes, closing schools and businesses. The 2016 hurricane season is off to a robust start. As for the school year? Students in Hermine’s path barely had a chance to show off their backpacks or even learn their new classmates’ names. Memories of the first days in their new grades will forever be linked to TS Hermine. Far from mundane.
Meanwhile, like Hermine (expected to become a hurricane by September 1st), I hurtle along, sometimes weak, sometimes –to others’ eyes–fierce, gathering and losing strength, doing the windy and wind-blown dance of the Vilomah. The dance of the grieving mother. Loss of Lucas hits me like a wind-thrown brick, hurled at my aching heart. Creates a gaping hole, that Sheetrock and plaster cannot heal.
–August 31, 2016