Just a small personal taste of what Carolinas suffered makes one’s heart ache

When the storms come and the floods threaten, I usually sit back and am thankful when they’re missing me. I watch the news on television, if the power is still on, and am relieved when I see that the danger is reduced in my area. Then I feel guilty, knowing that the reduction here usually means more danger elsewhere. It’s as if I have wished the threat onto others, as long as it will stay away from me. This is one of my many personal moral quandaries for which I have no solution. The least I can do is hope and pray for those most endangered, and I do.

When it became pretty obvious that Hurricane Florence was going to hit the U.S. mainland, it also became pretty obvious that the Carolinas, and particularly North Carolina, would be the bull’s-eye. That gave me something of a dilemma. I’m from North Carolina, and I have relatives still living there. So, as I sat secure in my home in Georgia, happy that the storm would miss me, I couldn’t help but feel that I was somehow wishing the threat away from me and onto my relatives.

I’ve never had to deal with the kind of destruction that Hurricane Florence wrought upon the Carolinas, but I can imagine what it must be like. I live in a low-lying area. My house sits in the V formed where two creeks meet. Let us have a sizable rain, and those two creeks quickly overflow their banks. About 200 yards of my long, meandering driveway disappear under what looks like a raging river. During the worst of our recent summer storms, my tractor, sitting under a shed on the same level as the driveway, was subjected to rushing water half way up the engine, necessitating complete cleaning and refurbishing when the deluge finally receded. The high water level on the tractor engine meant there was a depth of at least four feet. The flood was too high for me to drive out during the first day. The total experience, not new but the worst it has been here in 18 years, gave me a taste of what the victims of Florence had to deal with, their ordeal being mine multiplied by several thousand. I was pretty sure I was not going to drown, and I had enough food and water. The threat was, compared to those hit by Florence, infinitesimal.

For the survivors of Florence, the aftermath is, and will continue to be, awful. Many lost everything and can look forward to starting their lives over almost from scratch. Those who didn’t lose it all have, in many cases, a back-breaking and soul-searing future to anticipate. Water damage, even when it leaves property salvageable, can be heart breaking. Here again, I have the tiniest bit of experience that enhances my appreciation of what the flood survivors are facing with their water-damaged homes. I have written before, and so will hold a description to a minimum, of the water damage we incurred several years ago from the simple matter of a leaking refrigerator water inlet valve. When the problem was discovered, water had seeped underneath tile flooring, underneath walls, and anywhere else it wanted to go. Everything — counters, cabinets, shelving, baseboards, flooring, and all furniture — had to be removed from five rooms and two bathrooms, and everything had to be rebuilt and installed from scratch. This from a simple leak. Imagine, by contrast, having to deal with a home that has been completely flooded.

I think that Hurricane Florence has left me with greater than ever sympathy for the victims of storms and their aftermaths, especially given my kinship with the affected region and with some of the people. My relatives, by the way, seem to have escaped damage, although not fear and worry. When the next storm hits the East Coast, I’ll hope I’m not the target. And I’ll try to figure out some way to deal with the fact that, when I’m not, somebody else is.

Robert B. Simpson is a retired Army officer and freelance writer who lives in Columbus, Georgia. He can be reached by email at r.simpson@mindspring. com.