In a recent column I asked if crazy dreams equaled a crazy life. Ever since Helene rolled in, I've had plenty of crazy dreams. Unable to sleep deeply without my C-PAP machine, my brain stays close to consciousness, which is where dreams happen. Real life has provided the craziness. Either way I'm sure all of us have had enough craziness to last a good long while, and as of writing this, it ain't over yet.
Hurricane Helene wasn't here long and if you ask me, she can go the “Helene” back where she came from. Like many people, I thought she would be a lot of fuss and bluster without any real lasting effects. After all, the last hurricane was just fitful bands of drizzly rain. How had could this Helene be?
As the old saying goes, Man plans, God laughs.
Leaving work Thursday afternoon, I made a quick run for a cart full of hurricane snacks and a 32pack of bottled water. People were buying supplies, but not in that frenzied way when convinced disaster is imminent. As I bent to pick up the bottles of water my back protested — loudly. For days, I had been in agony, hoping against hope my lower back would unclench and allow me to sit or stand without laser beams setting my nerve endings on fire.
Earlier that morning, I got a shot at the doctor's office and the promise that in a few days my back would feel better. I was just glad they had managed to squeeze me in. The idea that some emergency might occur with me unable to help my family tortured me far more than any overtaxed nerve endings ever could.
Thursday night, the youngest two kids cuddled up with my wife. I slept in one of the empty beds in the kids' room, my feet hanging off the end, so our oldest would have someone with her should the unthinkable happen — a branch through the window or some other calamity. The poor kid was already freaked out by the moaning wind. By then, aware of just how bad things could be, I was confidently lying through my teeth. “Go to sleep. It's just wind. Noise. It can't hurt you.”
As I closed my eyes, I briefly wondered how many other parents around the world had offered such reassurances just before something horrible happened. The next day, my wife informed me that I had commenced snoring not long after. The CPAP machine was in the other room after all. Without it, I do a fair imitation of a broken chainsaw when I sleep. Still, it's just noise. It can't really hurt you. Irritate, yes. Hurt, no.
Like some kind of animal, I can just hibernate until more favorable conditions arise. My kids, especially my oldest, are more sensitive creatures. The power went out, signaled by the AC, bathroom light and noise fans all simultaneously shutting off, and my daughter loudly informed me in a tremulous voice.
When the trash can slammed into the side of the house, she was again startled awake, if she had ever managed to actually drift off to sleep. 'It's fine. We're fine,' I murmured with calm assurance, 'This is a strong little house with good bones. Relax.' Mentally, I added, 'Be strong, little house. You hear me? Be strong.'
As it turned out, the little house didn't have to be strong, because the O'Driscoll family was lucky. Most of one tree came down by the front corner of our house and a big tree behind our shed broke in half and collapsed onto some other trees. The greenhouse was destroyed when the kids' trampoline crashed into it, but all in all we were lucky.
With the spotty phone and internet service, it took a while to realize just how truly lucky we were.
Areas of North Carolina have been inflicted with apocalyptic levels of damage. People up there are truly suffering. My family is safe, and my heart goes out to anyone here or there who lost their homes and loved ones. For some, it wasn't just wind and noise that night or minor inconveniences in the days that followed. I hope they will have better, and luckier, days to come.
