After the Storm

Like many people, but not all, as hurricane Ian slowly approached the southwest portion of Florida on September 26, 2022, we decided to evacuate.

Eighteen years ago, we’d stayed, huddled in a closet during hurricane Charley praying the storm would end, leaving us alive and our home intact.

The experience was horrific, but we made it through. Our home and property endured the storm but had considerable damage.

While we were severely shaken, thankfully we were not broken. However, the violence of that storm made my husband and me vow that we’d never stay during another storm such as Charley.

As we kept a close eye on the weather channel, mesmerized at the slow progression of Ian, without a word to my husband who was sitting next to me, I called my son who lives about 250 miles northeast of us. I had one question. Although I already knew the answer; however, as a mother, I felt it only proper to ask, “Ken, can you and Jo put us up for a few days?” Without hesitation, he answered, “Of course, Pack your frozen food in coolers, pack your meds and we’ll see you soon. When are you leaving?”

I told him we’d be leaving early the next morning, which was Tuesday, September 27 and should arrive at his home sometime around noon.

His wife made an emergency run to her parent’s home which was about 20 minutes away. She wanted to be sure her mom was settled and secured for the storm.

Ken met us at the door and helped us inside with our luggage and frozen foods. My daughter-in-law arrived home from work about half-an-hour later.

As the rain picked up in their area, there wasn’t anything to do but watch the television and hope for the best. We’d watch a movie, then switch cannels to the weather station to hear more news on Ian. Then we’d switch back to watch another movie. This went on and on for the rest of that day and portions of the next.

We saw, thanks to CCTV, the storm surge decimate Naples, south Fort Myers, and upward into Fort Myers and a few lower parts of lower south Punta Gorda. We watched as the flood waters slowly crept their way northward. If it went too much further north than south Punta Gorda, our home would be flooded.

As the storm moved north, it was now apparent that the tidal surge would not go any further north than south Punta Gorda. In fact, as the storm began to approach the Tampa area, the winds slowed; it was no longer a Category 4 hurricane. The storm was also moving more inland, which meant that being off water, there was no longer a threat for the surge to reach our home in Punta Gorda Isles.

However, since my son’s house was now experiencing a Category 2 hurricane, the decision was made to stay an extra day before heading back home.

We left his house on September 30th and began our journey on I-75 southbound.

The destruction we witnessed was horrific. Trees split in half horizontally while others split vertically. Trees with their thick branches ripped off the trunks. Trees with leaves crudely blown off. Flowering bushes, now sat with no flowers or leaves. Shrubbery. What shrubbery? Mostly destroyed. Ripped out of their homes in the dirt, now sat dying across the road. Speaking of roads, many were closed due to flooding. Yes, I know, I said we saw no flood – but, according to our friends who kept us updated, that was my hometown. We had no flooding. The highway, in certain areas was flooded due to the rise in the rivers that ran alongside the northbound side of I75. The river portion on the southbound side had already begun to recede.

It’s difficult to describe the damaged and/or dying vegetation. It looked like bushes were set on fire and quickly extinguished before they could burn. Yet, they were all crispy brown.

What had once been a beautiful lush green landscape, was now nothing more than broken trees and broken, brittle, and brown hedges that are either already dead or will be in a matter of days.

I told my husband on the way home that I wanted to stop at the building where my dance team held our three-times-week classes.

Turning down the street that abuts the harbor, most of the trees and bushes were gone. On either side of the road, you saw nothing but devastation. Many of the private homes were now empty shells waiting for someone to either fix them or knock them down and rebuild – that is if they decided to rebuild.

We reached the end of the street where our YMCA annex sat. The roof was gone! Gone completely! Where four walls once stood, now there were three – the beautiful glass wall wasn’t just blown in. It was broken into more shards of glass than one could count. Because the roof was gone, the ceiling asbestos, now waterlogged, littered the floor. The electrical wires were hanging. Debris from all around surrounded the building’s grounds. The hurricane shutters that had been put in place did nothing to protect the building. In fact, quite a few were ripped off and sent who knows where!

Like other members of my dance team, we gathered and took a few pictures to remind ourselves that nothing lasts forever. We talked about the fun we had in that decrepit old building. It was like a love-hate relationship. We loved it and called it our own, but at the same time hated the fact that it was so old and deemed by the YMCA too old to fix. We hugged knowing that the photos we took would be the last time we’d see those three walls still standing. We’re almost positive that it will be razed and doubt it will be replaced with a newer building.

The building wasn’t just used for our dance classes. It was also used as a senior exercise room, a venue for weddings by couples on a tight budget. It was home during the summer months for kids of working parents. It was also used as a “pick-up” place for older preteens who were attending day camp. They’d arrive early and wait for the school bus to pick them up around 7:30am. Our little building had been used for so many great things – and now it’s gone.

Yes, our city has started the massive task of cleaning up the mess Ian left in its wake.

In my heart, I know it will take years before we’re back to normal. Heck, we’re still rebuilding after hurricane Charley wrecked our city in 2004.

Will our city always carry the stigma of broken trees and buildings, broken humans, and hearts that we all see now that the storm is gone?

My heart goes out to all those living south of me that experienced the tidal surge while Ian brought its havoc to Southwest Florida.

My only hope is that I live long enough to witness the rebuilding of this great city after Ian tried its hardest to destroy it.

Now that the bewilderment and sadness have found their perspectives in the lives of so many people, it’s time to straighten our backs, raise out chins and in many cases, begin again – after the storm.