Three Weeks After

It’s been over three weeks since Helene did her dirty work, leaving indescribable heartache and destruction in her path.

People ask me how I’m doing.

I am exhausted.

There’s physical exhaustion that comes in waves, despite my level of exertion of lack thereof.

There’s mental exhaustion that leaves me virtually incapable of complex thought, problem solving, or reading a book.

There’s emotional exhaustion that leaves me feeling everything and nothing, all at the same time.

I am angry.

I am angry that our tragedy has been used in service of a political agenda.

I am angry that the world out there has gone on spinning while we are here…with all this.

I am angry at the lack of information, leading to both intentional and unintentional misinformation, as people fill in the gaps the best they can.

I am angry at the failure of the emergency alerts, which were too little, too late, and inaccessible to those that needed them most.

I am angry at the insurance industry which seems to play a game at their benefit and the expense of those they supposedly serve.

I am angry that the cell phone provider that has always promised the best service has failed us terribly when we needed it most.

I am angry that people still don’t understand how to navigate an intersection where the traffic light is out. (Four way stop, people! Four.way.stop!)

I feel guilt. So much guilt.

Guilt that I haven’t lost more.

Guilt that I haven’t done more.

Guilt that I am physically incapable of doing more, due to my ls spinal limitations and lack of big, beefy muscles with which to hoist cases of water and piles of debris.

Guilt that I lack skill with a chainsaw or earth moving equipment.

Guilt that I didn’t warn my daughter’s neighbors to evacuate and wasn’t there to rescue them from their roofs with a canoe.

Guilt that it seems like I have given so little, mostly receiving from people’s kindness.

I am grateful.

Grateful that my daughter and granddaughter got to safety before the flood water engulfed their house.

Grateful for the hoards of volunteers and that people can actually pronounce Swannanoa now.

Grateful for the kindness of so many family, friends, and strangers in donations of money and food and water and goods and offers of help.

I am overwhelmed.

I am overwhelmed with all of the offers of all the good things.

I am heartbroken.

I am heartbroken that those that lost the most were, for the most part, those who had the least to lose and also have the fewest resources to rebuild.

But right now, right now I am afraid.

Afraid of what will happen to the local businesses.

Afraid that the world will go back to normal and not learn and not change.

Afraid that we will be expected to go on living as if none of this ever happened.

Afraid that we will be forgotten.

Afraid that we will forget each other.

Afraid that we will lose the connection and sense of community that have been our oxygen, our water, our source of life for 21 days.

And yet, I do have hope. I hope for so many things. But that is another post for another day.

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