With the Rain Comes the Flood

There used to be a time, in the not so distant past, where the sound of rain brought comfort. When the scent of wet earth and the rhythmic pitter-patter on the roof calmed and soothed and was a time of healing. But now, now it brought nothing but anxiety and fear. Now it encouraged memories to the surface that do nothing but drown.

The memories of that fateful day are still fresh in everyone's minds, for this was not something that a single person experienced. No. This was something entire communities felt. Entire states. An entire nation.

Living in Australia you become accustomed to natural disasters. Bushfires that span the entire Eastern Coastline. Cyclones that rip apart the Northern States. Tropical storms, stinger season, the wet, the dry, the humid, the freezing seasons. We see it all, and yet this flood season was the worst to date. Far exceeding the 'Worst' on record from 1974. Some of the indigenous tribes' oral tales tell of floods worse than the one we have just faced, but those who experienced and survived the Floods of 2022 would argue the terror and fear experienced would be difficult to compare.

My story from that awful day is not as horrifying as it was for others. We were lucky and managed to drive away from our home with our prized possessions (furry friend included) safely squirreled away in our cars. We had time to prepare, as frantic and traumatising as it was. We weren't woken from our beds by water lapping the mattress. We didn't have to swim or wade through chest deep, filthy water to escape our homes. Or huddle on our roof, begging and praying to gods we didn't truly believe in that some saint in a boat would spy us and take us to safety.

As did most of our town, we had gone to bed that night a little on edge. The rain hadn't stopped in days. Water had begun seeping down the walls of our loungeroom as the drains on the roof were no longer able to process that amount of water. The sound was truly deafening. You could barely hear your own thoughts over the thunderous torrent of rain pounding the roof. Sleep was elusive. Waking every hour to check the current level of the river gauge. Waiting for the message from the local emergency services that it was time to evacuate, or the evacuation siren to sound, neither of which ever came.

Instead, I woke myself not long after 5am to check on the state of things. First instinct had me moving the cars from the side of the house to the front where there was higher ground. It was the beginning of winter and the morning was dark, not to mention the torrential rain that had you soaked to the bone instantly. Little did I know at the time that there were people who lived near the river who were already clinging to their roofs, screaming for someone to save them as the water tore through their homes.

Instead, I judged our need to panic by the workers at the timber yard down the lane. When they started racing their forklifts, utes and trucks the wrong way down our one-way lane, I thought to myself "They know something I don't". By the time I made it back onto the street, the water was visible. A stones throw from our back yard. Working logically, I began bringing in whatever was outside. Lifting what I could onto beds, tables, and cabinets.

By the second load of belongings to my car, friends had arrived as backup. A stream of people I barely knew entered my home, lifting and moving, hoisting anything that was in harms way high out of reach. My poor dog, who was normally overjoyed at meeting new people, merely sat silently in the kitchen, as if he knew what was coming. As we had done whatever we could, we packed what else would fit into the cars, turned off every power-point in the house, and locked the doors, not knowing what would be left once we returned.

Standing on the street were our neighbours. Some staring at the rising water in disbelief. Some were crying as they beheld their homes, cars, and animals being swallowed by the flood water. Some men launched boats, kayaks, and canoes from our lane, risking their lives to help others who were stranded. We watched in stunned silence as our home was slowly consumed by the water. Praying that everything we left behind would survive.

As I said, our tale was one of the tamer stories from this disaster. Others watched in horror as shipping containers tore through neighbours homes, had their pets ripped from their arms as they attempted to get to safety, could hear the screams of terrified people trapped inside their roof cavities which they had climbed in to stay out of the weather. The main street had become a thoroughfare for any person with a boat who was willing to help. Social Media groups had been created to pinpoint where loved ones should have been waiting for someone to rescue them.

A hastily-made evacuation centre was set up at the sporting complex on the hill. Soaked, half-drowned and now homeless people congregated in stunned silence, while others wailed and raged at what they'd just witnessed. An entire town of traumatised and hurting people. Homes, businesses, lives and livelihoods lost. In the days that followed, once the rain cleared and an eerie silence settled over the submerged town, people were still searching for beloved pets, family, friends, and their rescuers.

Completely shut off from the rest of the world, Lismore went into survival mode. Supermarkets were stripped bare, water ran low, power was still lost to many homes. The hospitals became chaotic as staph infections took over, addicts lost access to their supplies, rivals lost their cool in the unexpected close quarters and lashed out.

However, through the darkness of the days and weeks that followed, light and good shone through. The 'Tinny Brigade' were announced as the local heroes that they were, collectively saving hundreds of lives; local charities were inundated with donations from those who had things to give, helping to clothe and feed the hundreds, if not thousands, left displaced, and volunteers ran the community, giving whatever they had left to give of themselves as they worked around the clock to provide for those who had lost everything.

Now seven months on the town is still in shambles. The aftermath of this catastrophic flood is as if it were a warzone, houses toppled from foundations, debris still in trees, businesses boarded up and people living inside the empty shells of their once cosy homes. Help amongst those loyal to the town remain, as local businesses are supported, volunteers help clean out and tear down houses, friends offer shelter and support, but assistance from afar is still to be desired.

It is as though, while we remain trapped in a constant survival state, fighting tooth and claw to regain control of our lives, the rest of the world has moved on. It will not be an easy task to rebuild what was destroyed, and while we all strive to get back to normal as soon as possible, we are tired. The word 'Resilient' has been used to describe the tenacity that the community has shown, but most are sick of being resilient, tired of being strong, and exhausted from the constant reminder of the trauma we collectively experienced.

So for many, the rain no longer brings comfort. It no longer brings a sense of vitality or fertility. For thousands of people, the rain is now an ever-present reminder of what we lost, what we endured, and what we suffered. And I have a feeling that it will be that way for many years to come.