It’s been hard since the hurricane. I will remember that day for the rest of my life. The shock of it. The trauma. How cluelessly we found ourselves sitting in a pitch black house listening to the wind blow. The days leading up to Ian, I had indulged myself in the sense of panic that was rising in Ft. Myers. I had looovveedd the drama of it. You get numb to the warnings. Really, you do. The calls and texts from concerned family members. The meteorologists and their showmanship. The nervous excitement, judging those who already had their shutters up, the people panicking at the grocery store. It felt like a high. Like something really exciting was about to happen. The pleasure of suddenly having everything cancelled. It felt like a snow day in Ft. Myers. We’ll watch movies and eat popcorn in our pajamas! We watched the news until we lost power. By then it was already too late to leave. Over the course of five long hours, we went from snow day elation to a vertical escape plan. The hurricane was supposed to go north of us. This was supposed to be Tampa, not us.
Sometime between the lights going out and the flood waters coming, I had the opportunity to walk through my house. By flashlight, I assessed our belongings. Room by room I assessed all my worldly goods. Don’t get me wrong, there were things I was sad about losing. The photographs, primarily. (I still haven’t gotten around to scanning those.) I moved my journals to a more airtight container, wrapped the container in thick plastic sheeting and duct-taped the edges multiple times. After that I could only hope I would see them again. Everything we owned – and when it came right down to it, I made sure I was wearing my wedding rings and just packed one tote for us to take with us. Enough food and water to survive a few days. A clean change of clothes. Our wallets and prescriptions. I said goodbye to the rest. In those discussions about “if your house was on fire and you could only grab 3 things what would they be?” I had my chance to do just that, but at the end of the day the only thing that mattered to me was my husband. As long as we both came out of this together, I will wish the rest away.
It’s been hard since the hurricane.
In the aftermath to follow, I lost my job, followed by my husband losing his. Nine days went by of us living with no power (the house was for the most part fine.) I lost my mind. I felt like I was going crazy because everything was just. so. hard. These years down here have been just. so. hard. And more than once, it felt like nothing would ever be the same again. And it wasn’t. Nothing can bring it back, what the hurricane took. Nothing replace the lives or what bit of old Florida still remained in Ft. Myers. Nothing can bring back the place I had called my office. The perfect little touches, the things I’d set out searching for. Nothing can bring back it’s old house scent or the way the evening sun came through the front window and fell on me. Nothing can bring back the job that I had only recently become confident at. A year of my life consumed by getting myself up to speed there. An entire year lost (and it does feel lost.) Nothing could bring it back, and I knew it.
It’s been hard since the hurricane.
Life presents itself in chapters and, at this age, my life is becoming a novel. Credit to my years (and my therapist) that even in the worst of my grief and confusion, I still knew that this ending would overlap with the beginning of what was coming next. Endings always suck but change is usually for the best and just be patient. Take a breath and just be patient. The pushing and pulling that takes place inside when these things happen – hopeful one day and crushed the next. Elated you got a second interview only to bomb it. Watching the trickle of money slow down into drops. It’s no use to cling to the chapters of our lives because you cannot prevent what is meant to be. Don’t be afraid to let go of the things that are (more than) willing to let go of you. I haven’t loved Ft. Myers. And it hasn’t loved me back.
It’s impossible to tell how this chapter will feel in retrospect. In the life here, the one that never took root, I grew so much. I learned so much. And if the entire purpose of my time here was my growth – I will accept it.
I came here a woman with nothing else to lose. Leaving Alton had torn me in two and I was snow blind from the pain of it. I hadn’t wanted this. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to be without my friends and staying busy every minute of the day, constantly distracted from making the necessary changes in my life. I didn’t want to leave spring or the spirits in my house, I didn’t want to turn the keys over to anyone else. It harmed me. It made me physically unwell to do it. Leaving the house where I’d raised my children brought an even heavier axe down on them reaching adulthood. Those days as a mother of small children – forever gone to me.
I wasn’t happy, though. I hadn’t been happy. For a long time. I just kept telling myself that if only I could get to both kids in school or through the end of the school year or to the other side of the neighborhood event I was planning that I could finally relax and just be happy. I now see that my chronic unhappiness wasn’t due to the hardships I faced but rather that I didn’t have the right components to be happy. At all. And no matter how long we had stayed in Alton I would not have ever been truly happy unless some big changes took place. I was doing the best that I could at the time and I don’t begrudge that Kayla for she was young and she didn’t know better. I do know better now. In the midst of this life that never took root, I did find true happiness. It was worth it. I would pay that same price again because it was so worth it.
And now it’s the end of this chapter for us. The city of my heart, Kansas City, awaits us. A spacious, sunny loft apartment and culture in every direction. I can’t wait. I’ve never been excited for a move before. I’ve pouted and kicked and screamed my way through every one of them. I’ve vowed unhappiness. Chronic and unrelenting unhappiness. Passive aggressive behavior. A flat refusal to try. These have never lasted that long, though. It usually is for the best.
Like the day of the hurricane, having surveyed all my material belongings, at the end of the day the only thing that matters to me is my husband. As long as we both come out of this together, I will wish the rest away.
This will be the greatest, most vibrant chapter of my life. And I’m so ready for it.
It’s been hard since the hurricane; but at last it is blowing away.
