Stuck Spaces: One year later, Post-Helene

Or, how we still feel the scars

Last night, it stormed over part of Asheville, Where we live only got a smattering of rain, but a bit north of us got a deluge. Rolling across social media were the fears and anxieties of those caught in the storm, whether in their cars or stuck inside. The terror was palpable. I felt it in my bones.

It has taken me most of this year to not feel anxious at storms. Every day, I look at our roof in gratitude, as it has sheltered us in this somewhat rainy year. Then another worry pops up: what happens if we get hit with those kinds of storms again? We still haven’t recovered from Helene. No matter how many times “Good Morning America” checks on us, there is still the aftermath we have to continually deal with here.

On a regular basis, I check our stash of water and food supplies, making note of a few more things I can pick up. I am never content with our stash. We have lost power and the internet on what feels like a somewhat regular basis, and I always ponder (for days and weeks) whether to invest in solar panels or a generator. I never find a clear answer. Then other needs arise, and I push those thoughts back.

It’s not unusual for people to feel the anxiety from cataclysmic weather events for years afterwards. In Asheville, we still see the scars of Helene in different parts of town, driving by boarded-up buildings, decimated parks, and still-empty destroyed areas. Many people still don’t have homes, and many are living in donated RVs. Weekly it seems, our governor tries to get us funding, or our country’s regime tries to block it. A never-ending, ridiculous tug-of-war.

For myself, I still can’t drive past the bubble of where I live. I haven’t been able to venture out to places I used to frequent, and I start panicking if I drive too far out of our area. For a woman who was “wanderlust” tattooed on her arm, I remain fairly home-bound. I know the time will come when I can push past that, so I am not too worried at this point. It makes me appreciate the area I live even more.

There are so many remembrance events this week and next week-end to commemorate what happened to us. My brain feels like it freezes sometimes, unable to assimilate more knowledge, so I can’t even fathom symposiums and celebrations. Not sure I can sit through all the “remember what happened? where we were? what we did?”, but I may feel differently as the week progresses.

One event is beautifully simple: cast flowers in the French Broad River at a local river park. I might be able to handle that. I appreciate the person who came up with this idea, and some of the other more simple events.

It’s not just Helene for me, though. In addition to the survival of the weeks that followed, my partner Trevor began at that time to have his health difficulties. He’d had some signs of it for a while, but the trauma of life without power and water sped things up, I think. I had to tamp down my mounting terror about his declining health and agonizing indecision as to what to do while we tried to survive. October last year was literally terrifying for me, culminating in his emergency brain surgery in November.

Now, of course, I look back and realize that things happened the way it did, and I was guided the entire time. The whole experience of “What do I do know?!” had an undercurrent of “You’ve got this, you are not alone.” And I wasn’t alone, by any stretch. I had my family, my neighbors who helped, and the community who gave out free meals, supplies and showers. I was guided by my ancestors (who lived through much worse), and my spiritual guides beyond this existence. While I panic regularly, I know and feel that they are rolling their eyes at me. How many times have we been through hard times, Lisa? How many times have you been okay?

Maybe you believe in spiritual guides, maybe you don’t. That’s fine by me. I am thankful they keep me going. Here we are, a year later, and we are, I am thankful to say, okay. We have decent health, our home is repaired, and some trees grew back. We learned to appreciate the simple things in life, and that has continued.

I’ve been looking at social media memories at this time last year, and I chuckle how excited I was for Fall activities and trips. All of it got wiped away, but what remained is so very powerful. This land that we live on? It’s magical, and it shows us the magic literally every single day. All it takes is a trip to the store to look up, see mountain ranges, and feel my breath catch in appreciation and wonder. That never gets old. There’s also a new and deeper appreciation for our family bonds and love. Every single day counts, and matters. Helene reminded us of that, in no uncertain terms.

If you could, next weekend, send some good thoughts and energies our way. This recovery will take years, and we all could use a boost. September 27th was a day that changed all of our lives, no matter the damage or outcome. Thank you.

A year ago, next weekend.