October 29, 2012. The day my life changed forever.
It was a Monday morning like any other, except school was canceled. Superstorm Sandy was scheduled to hit my section of Long Island and we were encouraged to evacuate. After all the hype that was caused by past hurricanes, like Hurricane Irene which only left her mark of fewer than two inches of water and no damage in our basement, we didn't expect much to be different. Sure, Sandy was a stronger storm that continued to grow, but where I live wasn't being hit by the eye of the storm, only the outskirts. Little did we know, none of that would have mattered.
Understanding Sandy had the possibility of bringing flood waters and power outages, my family prepared as best we could. We stocked up on non-perishable food items, bought extra flashlights and batteries, and moved items on the floor of our basement up to the next level. We spent that Monday like any other; my sister and I doing homework, my mom working in her office, and my dad working from home for the day as a precaution.
5 p.m, October 29, 2012
I had just submitted my college application for SUNY Oneonta and completed my homework assignment that would have been due the next day as the power went out. The winds were picking up outside, the sky was getting darker, but we were prepared. Having a gas oven, my mom prepared dinner quickly, trying to preserve the coldness and freshness of the food inside the refrigerator. My dad brought up Monopoly from our game closet in the basement, lit some candles and handed each one of us a flashlight, and sat down to eat dinner. By the time all the dishes were cleaned up after dinner, two hours had passed.
7 p.m, October 29, 2012
My dog Dallas is taken out every night to use the bathroom after we finish dinner and before we either watch TV or go about our nightly activity. The routine would be no different on this night, however, when my dad re-entered the house and went to lock up the door he yelled, "Marie, it's coming in!" Water had begun to rush into our front entryway by seeping in underneath the door. Our first reaction was to scoop out the water as fast as we could using buckets and dumping it down the sink to prevent flooding. As our assembly line frantically passed buckets to one another, the sound of rushing water was heard from our basement. My dad runs downstairs to notice instead of coming down, the water was coming up from the ground and seeping in from our crawl space and later the floor of the basement. The assembly line changed from buckets of water from the front entry way to our possessions up the stairs from the basement. Starting with the large items, like my drum set and the shelving unit with the TV and game systems, the water levels were rising faster than we could move. Before we knew it, my dad was waist deep in the basement carrying our lives worth of photo albums over his head trying to save as much as he could.
At this point, water began to seep in through the walls on our first level into my mom's office, the dining room, living room, and kitchen. All the items we just brought up from the basement to this level were now being brought up to the higher floors. My mom and sister frantically searched for our two cats and our dog to bring up to my and my sister's rooms to lock in so they would not be injured. My dad and I quickly transported as many possessions as we could from the first floor to the bedrooms on the upper levels. Luckily, all the important memorabilia were rescued.
Somewhere around 11 p.m, October 29, 2012
The water level finally stopped rising after hitting nine feet. Nine feet. There were nine feet of flood water in the house I had grown up in. The couch was floating in pieces across the living room. My mom and I waded our way through the mess to salvage as much untouched perishable food as we could from the upper cabinets in the kitchen to bring upstairs. Using the little cell service we had, we called our family and friends to notify them we were okay and safe and to check in to make sure they were as well. Were we really okay though? No. The four of us were in a panic. My mom was looking out every window trying to plan an escape route if the water level got any higher and we needed to get out. The fire department's advice was, "We told you to evacuate, so there is nothing we can do to help." Nothing could be done to help. How relieving.
Sometime around 1 a.m, October 30, 2012
We knew the worst had probably ended, but with the conditions of the storm, the timing of high tide, and the moon, it was possible the entire process could begin again at high tide in the morning. But for now, it was time to try and get some sleep. Having the master bedroom covered with photo albums and other salvaged items, the four of us slept in the two twin beds in my and my sister's room. In the seventeen years of my life up to that point, I had never seen my dad cry. That night, he was shaking as he cried himself to sleep.
The next morning.
The four of us rose soon after dawn, knowing daylight would be our main source of light to get things done and be productive. Seeing the water level decrease dramatically from nine feet to somewhere between three and four was semi-satisfying. The clean up could begin.
The next 11 days.
The following week and a half consisted of waking up at sunrise, assessing the damage to the house, sorting the items we rescued, and cleaning up and discarding items that could not be saved. My mom was on phone duty trying to find a signal strong enough to contact our insurance companies. Having lost our cars to the flooding, once the roads were cleared, we relied on friends and family to drive us to the nearest open supermarket to pay for overpriced food and toiletries. My grandma, living on the north shore of Long Island, was not affected by the storm, lent us her car so we could go to the surrounding towns to access the internet and cell phone service. With the gas shortage, it was only every few days we were able to drive up to her apartment to shower and have a nice meal. Crime rates rose and plumbing and sewage became an issue.
Fourteen days later.
It was time to go back to school. At this point, my family had relocated down the block to live with my nana, whose house, built on a higher foundation, was not as badly affected. But still, we had no heat, electricity, or hot water. We relied on a generator, showers at friends and fitness centers, and portable heaters. It was my responsibility to be strong, for it was my senior year of high school. My parents were constantly stressed figuring out insurance, where we would live, methods of transportation, etc. My sister was just starting her freshman year of high school which is rough enough as it is. I took it as my responsibility to be the rock of the family; therefore, I could not get upset over Hurricane Sandy because to me, if all four of us were grieving, no progress would be made and the family would fall apart
Christmas Eve 2012.
Due to the hard work and dedication of my parents, after a month of having a living room as my bedroom living in my nana's house, we were able to move into a mobile home placed on the front lawn of our property. The three bedroom, two bathroom trailer would be our home for the next nine months.
August 2012.
Much time has passed. I was accepted into SUNY Oneonta, graduated high school, and enjoyed my last summer before college began. My sister survived her freshman year. We had all cried as we watched our old house be knocked down and replaced with a brand new, gorgeous, modular version in its place. Unfortunately, it was not moving in ready when it was time for me to leave for school. I left for college essentially still homeless, living out of a mobile trailer placed on my front lawn.
October 2013.
To say the absolute least, this month was rough. On my first break from school, I was able to fully experience the new house. My family had already been moved in and living in it for a month now, but for me, it was entirely new. It was nice but would take much getting used to.
I wasn't home for the one-year anniversary of Hurricane Sandy either. I Facetimed with my parents and sister and spent the day with friends to keep myself distracted.
October 2014.
I thought the one year anniversary away from home would be bad, but the second one was worse.
At this point, I was able to see my family was stable again and everything was under control. I had lived in the new house all summer long, and while it didn't feel like "home" yet, I was able to start decorating my room and making it my own. However, I allowed myself to experience all the emotions I had bottled up during the storm and the events afterward to be strong for my family. This resulted in a month filled with daily anxiety and panic attacks, worsened every time it rained. I could barely sleep or eat, and I constantly felt as if I couldn't get enough air to breathe. It was difficult to explain why, two years later, I would be more affected than during the actual storm.
August 2015.
I had just moved back home after living in Florida for my Disney College Program for the last six months. Yes, I survived living in Florida for a large portion of hurricane season. Rainy days were rough; they made me moody, but the panic attacks were much less frequent now. Where most people find peace in rainy days and hearing storms as they sleep, I become anxious.
Besides the fact that I was moving back home after living in the happiest place on earth for half a year, I had consecutively lived in my apartment in Orlando longer than I did in my "home" on Long Island, and I was only home long enough for a quick visit and to pack the car to come back up to school.
When I thought the Hurricane Sandy aftermath couldn't get any worse, it did.
December 2015.
The fall semester was rough. Despite the natural ups and downs any college student goes through and the post-DCP depression, I felt homeless once again. Going "home" for break felt more like a vacation to me and visiting Florida felt more like "home." It was a difficult concept to grasp. I would spend many days on the phone with my mom crying, trying to explain it wasn't her or my family that made Long Island not feel like home anymore, but the storm. Long Island is forever my home, and home is where the family is, but my house didn't feel like home.
Present day.
Three and a half years ago, I watched as Hurricane Sandy washed my home and a part of me away. I put on a mask for years to power through school and life and to be the strong glue for my family, keeping everyone sane and stable. As a result, I suffer from increased anxiety and panic attacks. While I know the chances of another similar situation are rare, and the new house is built on a higher, safer foundation, I do not worry any less.
But there is something good in everything that is bad. Hurricane Sandy devastated many, and my family fell victim, but it brought us closer together, making us stronger. We now have a new beautiful house to call "home" and the ability to give back and thank everyone who provided for us during our difficult time.
As cliche as the saying is, everything does happen for a reason. While I may still be trying to figure out exactly what the reason of all this was, I know I will find out some day.
