This year’s hurricane season has been awful! Houston was slammed by Harvey in August and sustained severe flooding. Houston received up to 52 inches of rain in just a few days. A month later, Irma wound up the Caribbean and was forecasted to travel up the west coast of Florida. It was one of the biggest storms on record: over 3oo miles wide with wind speeds up to 175 miles per hour; and as I write this and less than two weeks later, Puerto Rico is presently under assail by another category five storm, hurricane Maria.
I planned to stay home during hurricane Irma and hope for the best, but a friend talked me into evacuating. Of course, all of my Facebook friends were urging me to do the same, so the choice between facing down a possible direct hit from a category five hurricane versus leaving along with 7 million other Floridians was an easy one. Evacuate.
The drive out of Florida was arduous. The highways were packed and until we reached Tallahassee, for many hundred mile stretches at a time, we could drive no faster than 25 miles per hour. By midnight we looked for a rest stop to sleep a bit and recover. At the first rest stop I had a wonderful experience; a Déjà vu of memories more than fifty years ago when things like Woodstock, love, and peace reigned. Dozens of people representing every age, gender, economic status and many races stood in groups sharing their experiences. A white man in designer clothing was talking to a Latino wearing faded jeans and a worn shirt. A young woman with several tired and cranky children allowed an old couple to share treats with their children and speak words of comfort to them. The storm was a great equalizer. Skin color, income, and education level did not seem to matter to people sharing a common threat. Unfortunately, George thought this rest stop was too bright and loud and believed that he would not be able to sleep, so we moved on to the next rest area.
One more thing. Florida state troopers (Florida Department of Law Enforcement) patrolled the rest stops, welcomed evacuees to stop and sleep, and directed cars to available parking spaces. They were kind and helpful. In addition to the standard restrooms, every rest stop had many portable toilets set up to reduce wait times.
Finding a hotel room was as difficult as the long drive. Millions of evacuees meant that there were no hotel or motel rooms available in Alabama or Mississippi. We ended up driving all the way to Metairie, Louisiana, a city about ten miles from New Orleans.
Two days later, we drove back home. Many gas stations had either no power or no gas, and the traffic was heavier than when we exited. I was fortunate. The storm veered east. Tampa was not hit by the eye of this storm but suffered only strong winds and heavy rains. I sustained just a few broken tree limbs. While we lost power in my neighborhood, it was back on by the time that I got home.
There are so many other things that I do not know how to talk about. I received a lot of love and support from family members, and I keep wondering why my son never called or texted me to make sure that I was ok. Before we evacuated, I asked to talk to my grandsons, but my son replied by text that he was too busy with meetings and soccer to arrange that call.
Yesterday was Tod’s birthday. He is my youngest son who died nine years ago. I miss him. Tod cared about me and often called me “just to talk” and to let me know what was going on in his life. He enjoyed talking to me and sometimes called for no reason other than to relay a story he knew I would enjoy. I know Tod would have called me before Irma because in 2004 when Florida had four hurricanes, my son came to stay with me to make sure that I was ok. Storms are traumatic events and many times these past weeks, I thought about him. Happy belated birthday, Tod! Fair winds and following seas.
dottieriley 