The last thing anyone wants to hear is that his or her mother spent the day waiting in line, despite the hot sun and high humidity, just to get a bag of ice to chill her drinks. Or that Mom is sitting at home, day in and day out, twiddling her thumbs while waiting for the power to return. Or that Mom’s life is in such upheaval that Tuesday is Friday is Monday is Wednesday is—what’s today? Or that more rain is coming and Mom’s nearly sure the roof will cave in when it does.
The last thing anyone wants to hear is that a force of nature pounded through her front door and had its way with all the comforts of home.
These are things I heard last week, when I finally heard word on Hurricane Ike. My home is in League City, Texas, which is roughly a half hour from Galveston Island, the area hit hardest by the hurricane. The mandatory evacuations were enforced in our part of town and my mother, who’s as conscientious as they come, took the warning seriously, boarded up the windows, grabbed her beloved bicycles, and scrambled out of town.
Hurricanes are nothing new in these parts; the evacuations are old hat too. The perks of living on or near the water outweigh the annual scare of incoming natural disaster. Most people do as they’re told when strong wind comes along, but no one really expects much damage in the end.
However, this time was different. “Certain death” was on its way . . .
Ike hit on a Saturday and cell phone lines were either out-of-service or overwhelmed for days thereafter. There was no calling in or out. The lull after the storm brought pure silence. I knew nothing of my mother or our home. All I knew is what I saw on TV, which wasn’t all too comforting.
“I’m craving dairy,” she moaned. These were some of the first words out of my mother’s mouth when we finally spoke on Tuesday. Apparently, the National Guard doesn’t serve up milk or yogurt products in the aftermath of a hurricane; everyone’s calcium intake is the least of their worries. My mom was finally back home, which was without power, but in otherwise good shape relative to the rest of the neighborhood. Roof damage, some flooding, busted windows—we were lucky.
That punk of nature racked up $27 billion worth of damage. This makes Hurricane Ike the third costliest hurricane in history. People lost everything. Entire neighborhoods were wiped off the map. According to my mother, Houston now resembles a third world country.
“Downtown looks like a war zone,” she says. “Shattered glass is everywhere. It looks as if someone dropped a bomb on this place.”
To this day, horses lie dead in open fields. Street lights and sign posts are all gone. Uprooted trees block roadways. The yellow house that was completely lifted from its foundation and swept into the middle of a busy freeway stays put. Big boats that washed ashore are still docked in people’s backyards. Businesses close shop at six in the evening to escape looting. Residents live off of boxed food provided by the National Guard. Sewage is a problem in some areas. No one goes to work. School is called off. People are blocked from returning to their homes because search and rescue efforts are still underway in certain neighborhoods.
“All the comforts of life are gone . . . It’s progressively getting a little better day by day, but you know, it’s just not fair, ” says my mother.
Life isn’t fair. That’s what we’re always told, but convention fails to tell us that life can be downright cruel sometimes. Luckily, we have enough gusto in us to make do and make it through. A little wind can blow out our windows or knock down our homes, but it can’t sweep away our spirit. It just can’t. And in this case, it won’t.
We must remember that we’re dealing with Texans here—and they sure ain’t going anywhere anytime soon. No sirree.
The slide show above was compiled using photographs taken by family friends who live nearby. For more on Hurricane Ike, visit their website here.
Tags: Houston, hurricane, hurricane ike