I wrote this blog post last year in the thick of Hurricane Harvey. On the first anniversary of this monumental storm, I thought I’d reshare it.
Originally posted August 29th, 2017
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Catastrophic Flood
On the news yesterday, I heard someone ask a newscaster, “What’s bigger than a catastrophic flood?”
“Bigger?” he said. “Biblical. Biblical flooding is the next level up.”
If you’ve watched the news at all, you’ve seen the photos and footage of the monster that was Hurricane Harvey. An 800-year flood. Unbelievable photos of freeways that are now rivers, houses that are hidden under a sea of water, boats rescuing people out of suburban neighborhoods. The devastation here is beyond words.
Good ole’ Harvey. His name is likely to be retired from the list of hurricane names, kind of like they do with famous sports people. Harvey’s claim to fame? He was a huge jerk.
Today was the first day the rains died down so I ventured out. I trekked to the grocery store. This is the line. It moved fast but we were only let in ten or so at a time. They did have milk and eggs but bread (rolls or buns too) was no longer available and any sort of meat was almost gone. Still, today was the first day several grocery stores reopened. The hours are limited. We’re all under a curfew.
While I was in line, I got the news that my brother-in-law and nephew had to evacuate by boat. They live in the house my husband grew up in, the house his parents have owned for close to 50 years. Never once has it come to close to flooding. It has about a foot of water in it now. My husband picked them up in the parking lot of a hotel, which is also flooding.
Wait, you said it stopped raining.
I know, I know. But we have bigger problems than rain. Namely a couple of reservoirs that are at capacity and have overrun their banks. The city engineers have had to release water to help ease the strain on the dams and levees. There’ve been a few breaches. Not only that but houses that have never, ever been at risk for a flood, are flooding. Not inches, but feet. Some areas are under 10 or 20 feet of water. Our dear friends evacuated (thank goodness everyone is okay), but their house looks like this.
It’s supposed to get worse before it gets better. Better might be a few days or weeks or, in some cases, months. My heart is breaking for them and the thousands of others displaced, waiting desperately to make sure their homes are okay and being devastated to learn they are not.
Help is Here
After days of feeling helpless, after watching the water come to our very doorstep Sunday night, I decided to volunteer at a local church set up as a shelter. These shelters are everywhere–at schools, a conventions centers, at church, daycares, and even martial arts centers. As one building reaches compacity, another opens somewhere, and more people fill it.
Houston is also receiving help from everywhere–National Guard, New York, the Cajun Navy, and regular citizens who have a boat and want to help. I’ve seen Blackhawk helicopters fly overhead as they search for evacuees stranded on their roofs. (Oooh, awesome Top Gun-esque moment–I saw a freaking jet get refueled in the air.) Today, I saw a long line of vehicles by my house–the Miami-Dade Flood Unit.
I ended up at a local church, where I was sent out to pick up some newly-rescued evacuees. My friend and I arrived at the end of the staging area for the rescues. There were huge military trucks, police cars, people arriving with boats, and extra tall utility vehicles specifically designed for water rescues.
So Many People. So Many Stories.
It was in the parking lot of a gas station I met one woman, about my mom’s age, dressed in bright pink. She was surrounded by four or five pieces of luggage and she was alone.
“Do you need help?” we asked her. “We can take you to a shelter.”
“I’ll think about it,” she said, her eyes wide, hand shaking slightly. In shock and utterly alone. About 75% of the people rescued have someone to call to pick them up, but the others don’t. We finally did talk her into letting us help her. She came back to the shelter and seemed to relax a little. Everything she owns is in those suitcases. Who knows what will be left when she gets back.
I drove a family of three–Mom, Dad, and a little girl–back to my side of town. Their plan was to wait in the parking lot of a closed mall until a relative from San Antonio came to pick them up. “We’re okay, we don’t need a shelter,” they said.
But, by the time, we finished our drive, they decided a hot meal and a roof over their heads would be better. They lived in the second story of an apartment complex. The first floor was flooded. They planned on sticking it out until they were told the electricity was being cut off to the area and the flooding would get worse. They had four hastily packed bags and very wet shoes by the time I met them. The little girl’s school is flooded, as is the adjacent middle- and high- school. They’ll go to San Antonio to stay with relatives.
Maybe they’ll come back and maybe not.
So many people. So many more stories.
But, today, we also saw the sun for the first time in days. “The sun is out,” the woman I drove to the shelter said, that same woman with nothing but four bags of clothes and wet shoes. “God’s taking care of it.”
If she can say that, so can I.