Nine years ago today
I told my therapist that today was the anniversary of Hurricane Harvey flooding our house. The remarkable part is that it was an afterthought. I haven’t been haunted by flashbacks or dreams about floods, which afflicted me for years after the flood.
The horrors of that day have become remote, but I still have the Facebook memories to remind me of how terrifying fleeing for your life, pre-dawn, water quickly accumulating on your street, unable to see the ground through feet of sludge water, holding a dog that got heavier and heavier with each step, drenched and unprepared for all of what was to come.
“I've been running on adrenaline for all of these days and it must have run out today. I keep being told that I'm strong, but that's bullshit. I think it almost *bothers* me to hear that. I think other people want me to be strong so they can feel ok. I drove past my house today sobbing. The garbage trucks have been slowly hauling away some of the trash on our lawn and the new pile revealed the shoes I wore on my wedding day. I think that might have broken me.”
I do feel healed right now. I am able to let go of things that no longer serve me as I imagine them covered in the nasty dirt that covers everything that floods. I am more aware than ever that the garden I have made will survive anything. I am prepared for the worst as I sit comfortably at my desk on a regular day. I am better at protecting the things I want to keep with me.
The effort it took to get here was immense. Not just the nine months of rebuilding. Feeling all of the feelings intensely. The PTSD naps that stole hours from my days. The therapy, the EMDR sessions, the beautiful resilience workshop I took for Harvey survivors, the writing, the poetry.
Insulation
By the gloved handful,
shoved into thick bags,
the warmth of the house is removed
leaving the bones exposed
and cold.
Startling colors emerge.
A body is more than red
when you really look --
yellow puffs of gland,
blue-green vein,
and the start of the black cancer
that friends are trying to stop
from spreading
as you sit helplessly
next to your skin.
It was such a vulnerable time and I am glad I survived it. That wasn’t assured. I cut myself. I thought about killing myself. I don’t credit my survival to me, it was everyone around me who provided even a little relief that kept me going until I could walk on my own again.
This is a reminder to find a way to be that person someone else can lean on for a mile. You have no idea how important that can be.
