As you may or may not be aware, I live in Hendersonville, NC, where Hurricane Helene, a Category 4 hurricane, crashed through on Sept. 27 without warning. It took everyone in Western North Carolina by surprise. In three days, we received 20 inches of rain. When the winds arrived at 80 mph, it uprooted massive trees, tossing them into the roads and sadly, on top of many homes. Power lines were scattered. We lost power and Internet almost immediately and we were without electricity for 10.5 days and lived in the dark. Communications were wiped out and we would endure days without the ability to text our loved ones.
No one anticipated in an area that, in the past, had a little flooding from storms, temporary power outages, and minor inconveniences, we would see buildings submerged under 10 feet of water, massive destruction to the landscape, and entire towns obliterated. There were no mandatory evacuations because we had no idea what was about to happen. Blocked roads meant emergency crews could not immediately reach people. We were trapped.
Grieving through loss
Although my husband and I were fortunate that a tree did not land on our home and the flood waters barely bypassed us, observing the massive destruction as we tried to traverse the dangerous and impassable roads to find our friends in case they needed help, drowned us in trauma and an indescribable emotional roller coaster. I realized we were grieving and going through the steps of grief—shock, sadness, anger, guilt—because we all lost something that day.
Everyone experiences grief and trauma differently. For me, I drifted among shock and sadness to acceptance before backtracking to being paralyzed. I could not write, I could not read. I simply sat outside, drinking tea, staring into nothing. There was no focus.
Following destructive storms, we often hear people talk about rebuilding—their homes, their businesses, their lives. But we do not hear as much of the psychological and emotional toll such an event causes.
Healing one day at a time
We are slowly getting back into routine. The grocery stores are no longer zoos. The lines at gas stations have dwindled. Roads are clearing and we have our power and Internet (even if it’s spotty). I am taking hot showers and can bake in my oven again. And finally, I am writing.
The trauma will remain. I recognize my own feelings and give myself permission to grieve. I offer my friends emotional support, and we are climbing through this together. Time will ease our pain: that is a reality.
My garden suffered, yet flowers are still growing through the bent stems, reminding me that as flowers are resilient, so are we. We just need to give ourselves time.
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