So after the storm of the century, what do you do?
It’s Saturday afternoon, about 12:30, and I’m sitting in a second floor dining area at a Publix supermarket in Apopka, Florida, charging portable batteries and watching people shopping for water, bread and milk. It all looks so normal.
A lot of people have asked me how we’re doing. The answer: very well. We are blessed.
To recap:
Late Wednesday night, Hurricane Milton came barreling ashore near Tampa, a little over 100 miles west of us, as a massive Category 3 — weaker than it had been in the Gulf, but still the biggest storm of its kind in modern memory. Sitting upstairs in front of the television, Siobhain and I alternated between saying a rosary and watching a few minutes of The Weather Channel, before we decided to call it a night. We’re newbies. We’ve only been living in Florida for about a year now, and this was our first Big One — and the first for our new home, built just two years ago in a development about 40 minutes north of Disney World. Would we get through this in one piece?
We mulled what to do and set about moving some valuables to safe corners of the house. Siobhain, ever the pragmatist, suggested we closet ourselves in a storage room under our stairs — a place realtors like to call “The Harry Potter Room” — that we use to keep Christmas lights and our disassembled plastic tree. We spread out some sleeping bags, closed the door and clicked off the light and hoped we’d be able to fall asleep.
It wasn’t easy. The wind was fierce — through most of the night, it sounded like a high pitched wail. At some point we got up to check the time. A few seconds later, the lights flickered. Then they went off. It was around 3 am. That was the last we had of any electricity. Somehow we managed to sleep on and off for the rest of the night.
The next morning, we could still hear the wind, but it was quieter. We cracked open the door in our closet. The house looked okay. No leaks, no damage. I went over to the sliding doors leading to the lanai and pulled open the blinds. The patio was a bit of a mess, but the screen over the pool was still standing. Some of the fence and been blown down. Our potted palm trees were uprooted. The rain was a steady, weakening drizzle. The pool, thank God, had not overflowed. We later learned that Milton had ripped through Orlando as a Category 2, with winds over 100 mph. It weakened to a Category 1 in the middle of the night. We were lucky. Very lucky.
As the day wore on, we kept waiting for the power to come back. (We’re newbies, what do we know?) It didn’t. As the skies cleared and the last rain stopped, I walked around the neighborhood and saw people clearing debris and cranking up generators. This became the familiar leitmotif in the hours after Milton: the constant grind of small engines giving homeowners those 20th century miracles: refrigeration, air conditioning and light. I made a mental note: when this is done, start shopping for a generator.
Siobhain had a small battery-operated radio which connected us with the outside world. Beyond that, the only station it got clearly was NPR. My cell phone was getting spotty service, and we couldn’t quite tell what was going on. We called family and friends to let them know we were okay, but the connections died after a couple minutes. Late Thursday, I went for a drive through downtown Apopka. Nothing was open. Even the Waffle House was dark. Some street lights were working; most weren’t. A few were flashing. I saw lots of downed tree limbs. I drove past the Subway shop in Main Street. It was roped off; I found out later that the roof had caved in.
Late that night, we experienced a miracle in the kitchen. The light came on! The stove chirped. The digital clock started flashing. We had power! Until we didn’t. About a minute later, it all went dead again. It hasn’t come back since.
The next day, Friday, dawned bright and clear. The temperatures were cool, in the 60s. I walked to our mailbox and passed the biggest casualty, a fallen tree. Compared to pictures I’d seen from other corners of Florida, this was nothing.
I also noticed an interesting phenomenon around the neighborhood. A lot of trees survived, but many of them are bent.
As I noted on Facebook: Storms can do that to all of us. We survive, but we are changed. We may be bent. We may be scarred. But we still stand. Ready, perhaps, for the next wind that comes. Life is about learning to bend and still survive.
When I got home, I was able to take a cold shower with lukewarm water and dined on an untoasted bagel with peanut butter. We had some cheese in the refrigerator (which was still cool) and I made a sandwich for lunch. We had lots of bottled water and Gatorade. We didn’t have to worry about going hungry.
In the afternoon, I got back in the car rigged up cables to recharge my iPhone. Then I went looking for places to charge small spare batteries that could only be revived with plugs in a socket. A nearby Perkins was open, with a line of people snaking into the parking lot. I went inside and found an electrical socket by a bench in the waiting area. I charged one of my batteries to about 50% and decided that was enough for now. I headed home to pick up Siobhain, and we headed out to Publix.
The supermarket was bustling. And I discovered a not-so-hidden treasure: a second floor dining room with WiFi and electrical sockets for charging.
Which brings me to where I am at this moment.
As I type, it’s still unclear when we’ll have power again. Duke Electric tells us they expect “a majority” of people in our area will have electricity by 11;59 Sunday night.
Among other things, I found out that our parish church is without power, too. The bishop was scheduled to visit Saturday to do confirmations, but the power died during rehearsals Friday. The confirmations were cancelled. The bishop will come on Tuesday instead.
Meanwhile, some good news: Publix is now offering again its legendary turkey-with-cranberry relish sub, an end-of-year delicacy. Bliss. Honestly, between the food and the WiFi, I’m ready to move in to Publix. All it needs is a shower.
So that’s the story so far. I’m going to stay upstairs at Publix for a while working on a deacon retreat I’m giving in Tulsa next weekend, scanning my emails for any news, and waiting for electricity to return.
The Advent in October continues.
Finally: When you have a moment, please whisper a prayer for all who have been through hell this week — Floridians, rescue workers, linemen, their families and friends around the country who have been worrying, hoping, praying, struggling.
So many have lost so much. Our Lady of Solace, stand with them, comfort them, console them!
Remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary, that never was it known that anyone who fled to thy protection, implored thy help, or sought thine intercession was left unaided.
Inspired by this confidence, I fly unto thee, O Virgin of virgins, my mother; to thee do I come, before thee I stand, sinful and sorrowful. O Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not my petitions, but in thy mercy hear and answer me.
Amen.
