No Hurricanes, Really?

My son asked from the back seat, "Are there hurricanes here?"

My husband replied, "No."

Son, "Never?"

"No, never."

"Not even one?"

No, son, not even one."

A happy little grin spread across his face.  

Travel psychosis

Next Wednesday, it will have been five months since we evacuated ahead of Hurricane Ike. That seems like a long time, but I keep having little experiences that tell me otherwise.

Apparently I'm having some travel psychosis. I'm going to a conference that's an hour away from my house, maybe two hours in bad traffic. I'm bringing my family and staying the night. And when I started packing my bags (yes, plural) last night, I had to re-pack three times to whittle away at the week's worth pile of clothes and shoes.

It seems I haven't entirely gotten over the fact that the last time we headed out for a 3-day vacation, we ended up being stranded for two months, and then relocated permanently. I guess it makes sense that that kind of experience does something to you. I guess I'm just surprised it lasts so long.

It Continues

I feel sick today. UTMB is doing 2,000 of the expected 3,800 layoffs today. My face gets hot, my hands get numb and my vision gets blurry. I have a hard time making sense of my surroundings. And I'm one of the lucky ones that doesn't even live there anymore.

This is from a friend's email to me:

"This is a crazy and awful time. Within the past 24 hours, I've seen a grown man wearing a UTMB electrician's uniform burst into tears in the middle of [the grocery]. I've also had the experience of typing an e-mail message to the IT department asking for help--only to pause, look up at my TV screen, and see the very person I was e-mailing telling [TV news] reporters that he had just been asked to retire early. I feel like I have stepped into some sort of waking nightmare."

Two steps forward...

So we're finally settled in a HOME. A REAL home. A place we're going to stay through the foreseeable future. The kids are in school. I'm back at work. P is signing up for college. We're doing mundane things like going grocery shopping every week and eating food that we cook at home. We're going to the park after school and visiting family on the weekends. We've been here for exactly two weeks now, and our lives look good and boring. 

Then again, there are always surprises. On the way home yesterday, our son asked if we were going home to the park house. We explained again that we don't live there anymore and that our current house is our new home. He asked why, and we explained again that there were a lot of reasons. Mommy got a new job and we wanted to live closer to his grandparents. He was quiet so we left it at that. 

Then later he told me, "Mommy there's another bad reason that we don't live at the park house."

I asked, "Why?"

He replied, "Because it was destroyed in a flood."

Home

Last week we all got into the car and told the kids we were going home. Our son asked, "which home?" We have lived in four homes in two months. Our belongings were scattered between houses and we all felt disoriented. One day I brought a couple of toys and some pajamas from our island home to the place we were staying. You would have thought Santa just presented our son with his own motorcycle for all his gleeful whoops and hollers and dancing around. After bath we brought out his Hulk pajamas.

"Are these from the park house?" 

"Yes."

"Waaahoo!!"

It was clear he missed his home.

So many things changed very quickly about our circumstances. In a span of two weeks, we moved our two carloads of belongings to a home closer to the Gulf Coast, put the kids in a second new school, returned to our jobs on the island, and packed up our old home. Meanwhile, I accepted a new job in the hill country, so we never really settled back into our old lives. We saw some old friends, which seemed to be more confusing than comforting to our son, tied up loose ends as best we could in such a hurry, and then moved again. 

A new job in a new city, another move, another daycare/preschool, another home. But finally, a HOME. What is it now... 56 days after we evacuated and we have a HOME. A place to STAY. 

On the way to school the other day, our son said he was going to a REAL school with REAL teachers. How wonderful to hear that he is settling in too. He is still confused at times but seems to understand that we are staying put. Tonight at the park he asked if our house was next to the park. Our island home was immediately across the street from a park, and I could see him trying to put all the pieces together, how our new life is situated within our old life.

The whole process hasn't upset our 1-year-old. I would have thought she would have a hard time switching from school to school, but she seems to enjoy the new kids and new toys and just rolls with all the changes. For her, I think the most difficult times are when her family is acting crazy and stressed, so as long as we're together and being nice, she's ok. 

It is difficult now to capture the agony and desperation we all felt, even just a few days ago. How quickly we become comfortable again when the dust settles. Regardless, we feel absolutely grateful to have found a place where we know the answers. The uncertainty is unbearable. Where will we live? Will we have a job? What will we do next? So many of our friends are still wondering these things with no promise of answers soon to come. 

Island Time: Day Two

Day Two was much better. I mean better in that I didn't suffer any panic attacks and my anxiety was reduced to a level that allowed me to eat my Salvation Army lunch without spilling much from my trembling spoon. 

The kids are still hanging in there. E busted her lip on a rocking horse at school but she wasn't nearly as worried about it as the teachers. I think she only cried because they made her get off. 

G had me read a book tonight called "That Makes Me So Mad!" I asked him what makes him so mad. He said, "Going to school."

I asked, "Any school or this school?"

"This school."

"Why?"

"Because I am nervous."

Knowing that Day Three may possibly be my last day on the island for a while and knowing that the next school change will be the last for hopefully a really long time is what gets me through these moments.

G and I went on to finish the book and had extra snuggles before bed. We also read "Gregory the Terrible Eater," and I told a story. The same story I always tell. He likes that consistency and sets me straight if I get any part out of order. I told him I was proud of him for being so brave with all the new things and so many changes. I think he liked that. 

Return to the Island

Today I went back for the first time. It was in a word... horrible. But let me back up first. We drove into the Houston area two days ago. G beat me 57 to 22 in a game of "I spy Blue Roof." It felt a little weird to be back but mostly pretty ok. 

Today I didn't really want to go to the island. But then I did want to. And then I didn't want to. It had to be that thing that makes people slow down at traffic accidents. They don't really want to see anything but they just can't help but look. 

I guess part of the reason I went is because it seems like it should be part of the healing process. Not so much that I wanted to go but that I needed to go. I guess... 

So far, I've been pretty happy with the post-Ike situation. We lost about half our stuff, but it was mostly stuff that was honestly quite burdensome anyway. We had to leave our house, but we didn't own it and had only lived there four months. We have become nomads, but I had always been curious what that would be like (it isn't nearly as fun as I had imagined). The kids had to leave a great school, and well, ok, that totally sucks. But they've attended two other really great schools since then, and I'm sure we'll find them an equally wonderful school again when we settle permanently somewhere. The best part of it all was getting to spend lots of time with my extended family and making some new friends and mostly just having fun together, especially during the moments when we were able to untie the knots in our guts and just relax. 

So anyway, up to now the worst feeling has been the guilt that I wasn't feeling nearly bad enough. I should have to feel pain in order to claim this experience right? How can I heal if I haven't been all twisted up with anguish?  

I started feeling a little dazed while we were still on the freeway. With boats. One was called Bonnie Seas or something that I think references calm water. It was smashed across the guardrail between the mainlanes and the feeder. There were hundreds of them all stirred up in boat soup in what used to be a marina. 

When the freeway dumped onto Broadway there were piles of trash heaped high on the road. I hear the piles are smaller now. There were tents with free lunch, and busses handing out all kinds of things, water and bandages and hazmat suits and prayers. There was an upholstery shop with a big spray painted plywood outside that said "Need Upholstery." The furniture store said "We have Mattresses!" The park across the street from our house was filled with elementary school children. It sounded exactly the same as it had before the storm. Which was eerie since there were no leaves on the woody bones that used to be Magnolias and Oaks, and when the warm breeze blew there were 10-foot dust clouds swirling down the street. Apocalyptic is maybe a better word than just simply horrible. 

I couldn't breathe right and I had to squat down a few times to keep from passing out. When I walked into the hospital to pick up some files I had to smile really big to keep from sobbing. When I found myself in a hallway alone I grew panicked, and when someone would finally pass I wanted to hug them hard like they had returned to me from war. 

After Katrina we all heard stories of rampant mental health problems and previously stable people becoming depressed or suicidal or mean. It didn't make any sense to me at the time. 

I found myself wondering today if a blind person would be any better able to live on the island than I would. If not seeing the place would make it more inhabitable. I don't think so. The mess will get cleaned up. It might even be prettier than ever next spring when the blooms come back on the Oleanders. But I think it will take much longer before the loneliness and loss and withering grief is out of the air.

That must be why the zillions of pictures, descriptions, and news stories were all inadequate after Katrina and probably now after Ike too. 

It Ain't Over Yet

I've been thinking about this all wrong. In my last post I mentioned trust. I've been thinking about it in terms of whether we'll be able to maintain our children's trust during this experience. Or put another way, whether they'll trust us when this experience is over.

It's the "over" part that's all wrong. This particular experience will end one day, sure. But there will be another experience, another challenge, another uncertain time. This crazy time we're having will blend into the next crazy time we'll have. I'm finding that it's important to remember to be a good parent now. It's easy to let the current madness have me postponing good choices (e.g. I'll make up for this poor choice later). But it doesn't work that way.

I think that's what's so hard about this situation. We don't get another chance. Every day is make or break. It's easy to ignore that fact when we're bumbling along day to day, but during these days where huge changes happen minute-to-minute, the absolute importance of loving kindness is right there in your face.

Broken Trust?

We told our kids that it doesn't matter where you live. Your home is where your family is, and the important thing is that we are together. That has been a kind of family mantra for a while, as we've been pretty transient since last March, never living in one place longer than four months. During this evacuation experience, which brought the whole nomad thing to crescendo, we've reiterated the importance of family and being together.

So what do I tell my son when his Daddy is away for two days? My husband had to return to work on-campus for a couple days this week, and it has been hard on the little guy.

Rewind to Surprise

The day before the evacuation, one of my grants was awarded. My team was planning to celebrate by bringing mimosas and giant breakfast burritos to the next morning's faculty meeting. All of us staff showed up to work the next day, one with burritos. The faculty member was bringing the champage, but he was at home packing his house. This was a surprise, since he never misses work and it was especially out of character for him to skip out when he had obligations to others (yes, champagne at 8:30 a.m. IS an obligation). Then the facutly meeting was cancelled. Hmph.

Then the childcare center called and said to come pick up our kids. The center had been closed since 7 a.m. but nobody had told them until now--8:30 a.m. Around 9 a.m. we finally learned that the whole island had been on mandatory evacuation since 7 a.m. and our administrator was releasing us at 10 a.m. (huh?). Ok, more surprises. Up to then, we had been required to work until Friday at 5 p.m., and then go away for the weekend just in case. We rolled with the changes. But this is seeming strange. Everyone is freaking out a little more than usual...

We'd done all this evacuation stuff just one week before and two weeks before that, and both times were well planned and orderly. This talk of a hurricane was nothing new but the disorder was surprising. Some people got all excited every time a heavy rain was forecast and boarded up their windows and moved all their stuff up to the second story and ran around getting everyone else freaked out. Other people, like us, had flood insurance and packed for a 3-day just-to-be-on-the-safe-side vacation. (Usually we were the smart ones. We got to come home and unpack while other people were busy taking down window boards and rearranging all their furniture.)

After we heard about the mandatory evacuation we got a little worked up because we knew everyone would be freaking out for sure, and we did NOT want to sit in traffic remnicent of Hurricane Rita (which we narrowly avoided). So we packed quickly and got out of town. The national news interviewed me on the way out the door because I was loading kids into a car, and then we left. The traffic was slow but not too bad. P and I shared my breakfast burrito.

My point in all this rambling is to answer all the "Why didn't they just...?" questions. Not only for my family, but for all the people who made even worse decisions than us--like staying on the island or trying to evacuate too late. The only reason they were bad decisions is because this time the storm actually hit us, and after many false alarms. That was the biggest surprise of all.

Dropping Bombs

I told our son about all the impending changes--moving again, changing schools again, making new friends again, etc. He talks best when he's in his carseat and I'm driving so I'm not looking at him. It went well overall. I'd deliver one piece of sad news:

"I learned today that we can't move back into our old house."
"The workmen couldn't figure out how to fix it?"
"No, they couldn't."
"But we're going back to our old school?"
"No. I'm sorry honey. We're not."

He was very sad about that, but then I'd deliver some good news:

"But the good thing about living there is we can go to K's Halloween party."
"That's better."
"And even though you won't go to school with your old friends, we'll still get to play with them on the weekends."
"That's better."

Today I asked if he was wanting to stay in the hill country.
"That would be not better." he said.
I asked why.
"Because when we live in the new house, we will have to take an airplane to see Annie & G-Bub."

Kids are great at seeing the good in a situation.

Moving On

My 3-year-old son and I ate our McDonalds breakfast in the car outside his preschool one morning this week. He said, "Look Mommy, there's my church."

I asked, "Do you pray in there?"

He said, "Yes," and then thought for a moment.

"No, we talk to God."

He said it helps him not be so angry.


When we got into his classroom, his teacher told me he had a problem yesterday. His chair wouldn't push in, and he said "Stupid chair! It pisses me off!"

His teacher explained that he can't talk that way at school, and I assured her that he can't talk that way at home. Though I'm certain he heard my husband or me lose our cool recently and make a similar exclamation.


Before I left, she gave me a basket of toys and chocolate from one of the other students. I walked as fast as I could to the car before the dam broke. Everyone here is so kind, and my son is just barely hanging on at times. The thought of moving him again makes me sick and dizzy.

We will be headed back near the Gulf Coast on Friday. Just another Band-Aid fix for now.

Questions Without Answers

Will we be employed next month? Should we look for jobs just in case? Where? Is this an opportunity for my husband to go to college? Will my boss let me work remotely forever? Do we need to buy a second car? Where will our children go to school? How do we keep from jumping from daycare to daycare? What are we going to do? How do we decide?

I alternate between calm enjoyment of our adventure and the kind of panic that feels a giant spoon has been shoved down my throat to stir my insides and all my blood has drained through my big toes. We don't know what we're doing or where we're going, what we should do or where we should go, or even what choices we have. It seems this phase of our recovery is characterized by collecting and eliminating options.

Our own patience is not enough to carry us through this process of discovery. Bosses are growing impatient. Generosity is wearing thin. We are becoming burdensome to others.

After the 26-day Vacation

In the previous posts I've provided a brief summary of our evacuation and resulting vacation. From here on out, I will detail our recovery. Throughout this process, my husband and I have discovered a central theme to our conversations is the well-being of our children. It has become clear that our children must be our first priority, and also will be our greatest challenge.

Procedurally, that is not to say that first we decide what is best for the kids and then make all decisions around that point. It's more complicated than that. We have to keep our jobs or find new ones, choose a new place to live, probably find new childcare, and amble through the insurance/FEMA processes. Regardless, our children's emotional health is obviously at the core of these decisions.

I intend to focus this blog on the struggles that result from the modern nuclear family's competing responsibilities, and more specifically on the way these struggles look during a family's disaster recovery, when every decision is made at fever pitch.

We recognize that we are not the first or only people to face the challenges associated with a natural disaster. We are not the first or only people to be displaced from a lovely, comfortable, "normal" life into varying degrees of chaos and uncertainty.

We also recognize that we are fortunate. We began this recovery process without debt, without interruption in pay, with loving family and generous friends, and with the skills and knowledge that will allow us to return to a different normal.

My objective here is not to whine about our problems or share our misery with the world. My hope is that by chronicling the ups and downs of our family's recovery, and specifically our children's recovery, we will help the many other families that have found themselves in similar upheaval.

The 26-day Evacuation Vacation

For the remainder of our "evacuation vacation," we reassembled a life that looked similar enough to normal that we were mostly able to fool our children and ourselves into just having fun. My son enjoyed his half-day preschool, and we went to the grocery store in the afternoons. On weekends, we participated in Nature Center activities and impromptu family reunions. My husband did most all the dealings with insurance and FEMA people, and because I'm still nursing our youngest, he went back to our half-destroyed house without me.

Avoidance, and an occassional glass of wine, kept me calm and confident that everything would turn out ok.

On Friday, October 3, we learned that we were being called back to work the following Monday. We still had no home, no childcare, and no reasonable place to impose ourselves for an extended stay. My office building was uninhabitalbe, so my supervisor asked me to work remotely. My husband would be required to show his face and sit in his chair. Our vacation had officially ended.