Frankly, I avoided dealing too much with my feelings after the Storm. I just don't operate that way - I'm the "get the job done and deal with it later" girl. And this storm. It's just so much. Too much. Where does one start, really?
I know that it is deeply painful to go to work each day. I am thankful for my job for many reasons, but the pain comes from geography. I work in Houston where for many people if not the city's general heartbeat, all is back to normal. So the drive into H-town and back is the epitome of cognitive dissonance. My heart is here and my brain must be there.
We all know this pain - our absence from national, state headlines even daily conversations in Houston. All the more jarring and wounding is the occasional mini story in the Houston Chronicle as though Ike was a blockbuster movie hailed by critics only to fail utterly at the box office (also within 2 weeks of Ike's blow, Chronicle blogs asking whether "we" should rebuild Galveston).
Phone calls from off the Island, with exceptions, well, what can I say? Often these calls are exhausting and honestly sometimes they can be painful. We all know those calls: "So is everything back to normal there?" Some days I handle that question better than others.
I know I'm not alone. Lately, I've talked to several folks who express the same tired frustration laced with latent anger at having to try to explain what it is like here and how this storm affected our community - our family whether by blood or choice. With no news coverage and Life being what she is, Islanders are carrying the paradoxical burden to inform everyone. And this burden is a paradox because if we tell folks the truth, it can translate into whining or begging the question of re-building to those who do not live here. But if we don't tell the world, the help, hell the patience and empathy, won't be there either. While I personally may not need that - my friends do and our Island does too.
Personally, our home sustained minimal damage (well, we actually have to make the Windstorm guy get on the roof to make that determination), our community - our friends, neighbors, and all the people who make our town what she is - are not necessarily in the same boat. And let's face it, I may be a bit sensitive, but how "normal" can it be when downtown looks like a ghost town and you salivate at the thought that maybe just maybe the dry cleaners may open? Desperation for the corner coffee shop isn't just caffeine addiction, it's the need to see normalcy in the familiar faces we once saw daily. Or the many still displaced because their home is fine but it's been a 2 month soap opera trying to get electricity or worse - those who are still missing and those who are scattered across the region and beyond because there is no home to come home to?
And here's what I know that makes things a bit more interesting and comforting. To quote that great New Orleans Times-Picayune article published 2 months after Katrina that has circulated among us Islanders - "We Are All Nuts." Ok, that's not an official diagnosis. But seriously the best thing that happened for me, once the adrenaline wore off (OMG do I miss adrenaline) and my body shut down, was realizing I was grieving. I don't know about anyone else for sure, but I'm a private griever. Never more than ever did I wish we had large closets in my house (frankly in an 1870 cottage we are grateful to have any closets) - those are my safe places in times of great heaving grief. It's too private and too painful.
Kubler & Ross's Stages of Grief (Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance) came back from distant memory. That's the easiest way to explain it, and it gave me great comfort. We are all grieving - none of us are at the same stage of this process nor do we express these feelings the same way. We have had a great loss and not just property. At least I can call it something.
And this morning I know one more thing. I continue to be deeply moved by this Island and by my fellow Islanders - my friends, neighbors, acquaintances and even those whom I've yet to meet. And while thousands of words have been written already on what Isaac H. Kempner named the "Galveston Spirit" during the aftermath of the 1900 Storm, it is not just the raw grip we have on this place or visceral passion we have for our home.
It is the best of who we are as people I have been so privileged to witness and be a part of. It is true caring for neighbors and the dignity of each of us - it is what community used to mean in the days before commutes, subdivisions, mass technology - the days Galveston still offers with front porches and neighbors gathered there as the truest picture. It is such times as today that we are afforded a glimpse into folks' true natures. I don't know about everyone else, but with rare exception, what I had thought I would find was not there. Something greater had taken its place. Sure, for a few, Ike did not bring out our better natures. But more days than not, my chest bursts with pride for the place we chose to call home and the people who make up our community. I am honored to call many of these people friends - and this word does not ring loudly enough.
One last thought, a recommendation really. I think it would be helpful that we consider striking the following question from our Island lexicon or at least give it a rest:
How much water did you get?
Let's just replace it with the usual hug and "How are you doing today?" That's what will get us to tomorrow.
I know that it is deeply painful to go to work each day. I am thankful for my job for many reasons, but the pain comes from geography. I work in Houston where for many people if not the city's general heartbeat, all is back to normal. So the drive into H-town and back is the epitome of cognitive dissonance. My heart is here and my brain must be there.
We all know this pain - our absence from national, state headlines even daily conversations in Houston. All the more jarring and wounding is the occasional mini story in the Houston Chronicle as though Ike was a blockbuster movie hailed by critics only to fail utterly at the box office (also within 2 weeks of Ike's blow, Chronicle blogs asking whether "we" should rebuild Galveston).
Phone calls from off the Island, with exceptions, well, what can I say? Often these calls are exhausting and honestly sometimes they can be painful. We all know those calls: "So is everything back to normal there?" Some days I handle that question better than others.
I know I'm not alone. Lately, I've talked to several folks who express the same tired frustration laced with latent anger at having to try to explain what it is like here and how this storm affected our community - our family whether by blood or choice. With no news coverage and Life being what she is, Islanders are carrying the paradoxical burden to inform everyone. And this burden is a paradox because if we tell folks the truth, it can translate into whining or begging the question of re-building to those who do not live here. But if we don't tell the world, the help, hell the patience and empathy, won't be there either. While I personally may not need that - my friends do and our Island does too.
Personally, our home sustained minimal damage (well, we actually have to make the Windstorm guy get on the roof to make that determination), our community - our friends, neighbors, and all the people who make our town what she is - are not necessarily in the same boat. And let's face it, I may be a bit sensitive, but how "normal" can it be when downtown looks like a ghost town and you salivate at the thought that maybe just maybe the dry cleaners may open? Desperation for the corner coffee shop isn't just caffeine addiction, it's the need to see normalcy in the familiar faces we once saw daily. Or the many still displaced because their home is fine but it's been a 2 month soap opera trying to get electricity or worse - those who are still missing and those who are scattered across the region and beyond because there is no home to come home to?
And here's what I know that makes things a bit more interesting and comforting. To quote that great New Orleans Times-Picayune article published 2 months after Katrina that has circulated among us Islanders - "We Are All Nuts." Ok, that's not an official diagnosis. But seriously the best thing that happened for me, once the adrenaline wore off (OMG do I miss adrenaline) and my body shut down, was realizing I was grieving. I don't know about anyone else for sure, but I'm a private griever. Never more than ever did I wish we had large closets in my house (frankly in an 1870 cottage we are grateful to have any closets) - those are my safe places in times of great heaving grief. It's too private and too painful.
Kubler & Ross's Stages of Grief (Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance) came back from distant memory. That's the easiest way to explain it, and it gave me great comfort. We are all grieving - none of us are at the same stage of this process nor do we express these feelings the same way. We have had a great loss and not just property. At least I can call it something.
And this morning I know one more thing. I continue to be deeply moved by this Island and by my fellow Islanders - my friends, neighbors, acquaintances and even those whom I've yet to meet. And while thousands of words have been written already on what Isaac H. Kempner named the "Galveston Spirit" during the aftermath of the 1900 Storm, it is not just the raw grip we have on this place or visceral passion we have for our home.
It is the best of who we are as people I have been so privileged to witness and be a part of. It is true caring for neighbors and the dignity of each of us - it is what community used to mean in the days before commutes, subdivisions, mass technology - the days Galveston still offers with front porches and neighbors gathered there as the truest picture. It is such times as today that we are afforded a glimpse into folks' true natures. I don't know about everyone else, but with rare exception, what I had thought I would find was not there. Something greater had taken its place. Sure, for a few, Ike did not bring out our better natures. But more days than not, my chest bursts with pride for the place we chose to call home and the people who make up our community. I am honored to call many of these people friends - and this word does not ring loudly enough.
One last thought, a recommendation really. I think it would be helpful that we consider striking the following question from our Island lexicon or at least give it a rest:
How much water did you get?
Let's just replace it with the usual hug and "How are you doing today?" That's what will get us to tomorrow.
So very well said, Lauren. You just expressed exactly what I'm feeling/thinking on a daily basis.
And how ARE you doing today?
Bravo!! I have been visitng the site weekly to see what you guys have been up to. Lauren, your tribute to the situation is excellent and probably hits the mark exactly. I now realize that I have been one of those who call and ask the wrong questions. I am so proud of you and your IBC group for the committment you have to Galveston. Keep up the good work.