On October 22, 2012, my life was turned upside down. A superstorm had struck my home in Long Island, New York, and caused more damage than predicted. I remember so clearly the few days before the storm had hit; I was in the supermarket with my dad gathering water and food as a precaution. I wasn't scared at all, since the summer before, Hurricane Irene had hit, and it was nowhere close to what it was hyped up to be. I figured the water would come up to my door but never enter my house. I was completely wrong.
During the storm, I was evacuated to my grandparents' house, who didn't live close to the water at all. My parents figured they could stay in the house and they would be fine. This was not the case; as the water rose, they realized it was not going to stop. They evacuated the house, which would be their last time in our home forever.
Overnight, my neighborhood, which I loved, turned into what looked like a war zone. During the period of time at my grandparents, we had completely lost power, and so did 95 percent of Long Island. When the storm was over, my parents didn't want us to come to the house right away, knowing it would be hard to see. The storm had caused a gas shortage as well; the lines for the gas station went on for miles. Once my grandpa was able to get gas, he drove my sister and I to what was once our home. Driving through my neighborhood was terrifying; there were army tanks and miscellaneous items everywhere. As we pulled up to my house, many family friends and volunteers were there, ripping apart my former home.
Walking through my house and seeing it being completely torn apart sent me into shock. I had no words and could only walk around the house aimlessly to observe the place that once made me feel safe. It was overwhelming to the point where I broke down in my mom's arms.
School was out of session for two weeks, and going back was not easy at all. Most people still didn't have power and many people weren't back in school yet. As I sat around and people talked about still not having power, I had to say I didn't have a home. The following months, I was switching between staying at my aunt's, who already had four kids, and an RV in my driveway. In these months, I almost never slept and became sick regularly. School was extremely hard and I was so miserable that I didn't know how to handle anything.
That March, when my mom called me and told me we were moving into an apartment, I just cried. I had just gotten used to living with my aunt, and in the RV, so I didn't want to get used to something new. Although, in the end, moving into that apartment was what my family needed.
As the months went by, my new house was being built, and the excitement was all too real. The thing that was disappointing was that our move-in date was pushed back every other week. It was very frustrating to just want to be home, and it continued getting farther from me every day. My family struggled and my parents were constantly frustrated. Nothing seemed to be falling into place until the day we finally moved home in November. We didn't have a kitchen yet, but we all needed to be home. It was the strangest feeling ever; it was like I was in a hotel, not my new home. As each day passed, something new was being added or done to the house; I basically lived in a construction site.
Today, it has been over three years since Hurricane Sandy changed my world. My house is still in the process of being completely finished. But now, it is truly my home. Even though this is something I wish my family didn't have to go through, it brought us closer than ever. All we had were each other, and I just want to say, thank you, Sandy. Thank you for changing my world for the better, even if the suffering was unimaginable. If Long Island, my neighborhood, my family, and friends can get through Sandy, we can get through anything.
