One Hurricane Too Many: Time to Leave Florida

Writer recalls the hours before hurricane Milton hit Florida … and right after it. ‘The massive destruction this storm left behind is devastating,’ she writes

By Barbara Pierce

 

Tuesday: Oct. 8: “There’s a category 5 hurricane coming this way!” my daughter says as I answer her call. “We’re evacuating. You should, too.”

Oncoming hurricane Milton is rapidly intensifying, surprising everyone with its rapid buildup. Hurricanes are rated category 1 to 5 — 5 being the worst.

“Catastrophic,” “life threatening,” “unprecedented,” are the words I hear when I turn on TV to learn more.

I’m sitting right in the path of where it’s expected to make landfall.

I’m in an evacuation zone, meaning I’m in a most vulnerable area and should not stay during the hurricane.

I’ve been through several hurricanes in Florida, my home state. It was difficult to sit there with the wind howling, the rains pouring and no power. But what I found much worse was the days after the hurricane, when I saw the devastation done. When I couldn’t drive down the street because of the trees down and no street lights. The road to my house was under water. My house was OK as it was on stilts.

It’s not getting through hour and hour of the hurricane’s fury — it’s the aftermath that’s heartbreaking.

I am not leaving for this hurricane. I have severe back pain. I’d spent the last days and nights in a recliner, positioned at exactly the right level, with an ice pack as that was the only thing tolerable. I couldn’t sit in my car and drive, with hundreds of others, to go to someplace strange. And hotels don’t offer recliners to sleep in.

I meet others in my building. “Are you leaving?” wee ask each other. “We’re staying,” was often the answer. “We’re troupers. We’ve got this. We’re not scared.”

I’ve been through hurricanes before. I can do this. But they keep saying there’s never been such a powerful, forceful one. This one does seem different.

And I’m scared, very scared.

The email from Florida Power and Light suggests I prepare for power outages, probably of long duration. I bought protein bars and
other food that doesn’t require
refrigeration.

Several of my neighbors pack their cars, load their dogs and drive off. “You should leave,” they tell me.

I drive downtown. Traffic in downtown is usually gridlocked, moving slowly along. Now there are one or two other cars. It’s eerie. Very creepy.

My brother calls from the other side of Florida. “Come stay with me. It’s not safe for you there.”

My ex calls several times. “You must leave now,” he commands. “Why aren’t you leaving?”

I can’t drive anywhere as the pain of driving would be intolerable after only a short time.

I talk to my few friends. We wish each other well. We’re all scared, really scared. “Stay safe,” we say to eachother.

Our building is only 10 years old. It seems sturdy; I should be safe here. I’m on the fourth floor. I’ll be OK if the river next to the building overflows. I’ll hide in an interior bathroom to keep safe if I need to.

As flooding is likely, I take my car out of the first-floor garage and move it to the second floor.

 

Wednesday, Oct. 9:  Rain steady all day. By afternoon, the wind sounds like a train going overhead, hour after hour, rumbling, growling, growing louder and louder. Rain becomes intense a steady, heavy downpour.

I was fortunate because my power didn’t go out until about 10 p.m. I could watch the storm on TV. The landfall came right over us; the wind and rain stopped as we were in the eye.

“Things will get worse after the eye,” warns the weatherman, who had by now lost his voice from talking for many hours.

I’m hearing reports of tornados, all over the state, not only destroying buildings but killing people in their path.

After the power goes out, I sit in my recliner, hearing the loud, loud wind battering the roof. When I get up, the floor shakes from the vibrations of the wind. I trusted this sturdy building; the floor shouldn’t be trembling.

 

Thursday, Oct. 10: I wake up. Much to my happy surprise, my power is already back on. I watch TV with tears as I see that trees are down, power lines are down. It’s not safe to go out. The roads are blocked by downed trees and there are no traffic lights. Many homes are without power. Mobile homes have been destroyed or roofs gone. Several neighborhoods are flooded; people have lost everything.

The massive destruction this storm left behind is devastating.

It’s a bright sunny day. That makes me very angry!

Florida, you lured us here with your seductive sunshine, balmy winters, glorious blue skies and lovely fluffy white clouds. Behind this beautiful façade lies the cruelty of hurricanes, a threat becoming more and more powerful and intense each year, destroying the lives of so many people.

I’m done. Time to leave Florida.


Barbara Pierce is a longtime writer of the Mohawk Valley edition of In Good Health. She has been a Florida resident since 2000.