I cried, I really did, when I saw the clip of one of Vermont’s wooden bridges being washed away. I was glued to CNN both in the anticipation and in the aftermath of Irene. I’m awestruck at the efficient activity that saved so many lives, and wonder about the person I saw interviewed who chose to stay behind to surf because he believed all the precautions were hype, or the two kayakers who chose to risk themselves and the first responders who recued them. I am so sad for the ones who did lose their lives or their family and friends.
Mostly, though, I must confess I’m still stressed at the thought of what might have happened – but didn’t – to my daughter, husband, and guest as they endured the blackness of the night with the evil of the storm trying to get in. Only their Sheltie seemed to think it was fun. Indeed, one of the four downed trees did take out the bedroom end of their home. Thank God the young woman had evacuated the upstairs bedroom before the killer tree fell on her bed.
The memory of that night still haunts them. As far as I know the roof is still a gaping hole; the cloud of insulation and ceiling dust is settled into a mess below; electric power is still off; and the insurance adjuster has not come. The stream of folks stopping to take photos has probably tapered off, and they know the kindness of sympathetic neighbors. The darkness of night still hides lurking evil, reflecting the insecurity of what comes next.
But they are alive and healthy! The thought of what might have happened! How grateful we are for life. That’s when we know what really matters.
