Stuck Spaces: Post Helene

Or, why am I still here?

Dearest Stucksters,

Grab your beverage and settle in for our weekly visit.

The last week of my life has been a doozy. I knew the six month anniversary of Helene was coming up, as Good Morning, America was going to be filming from a local venue, to highlight the work that’s been done in recovery in this area. It was in the back of my mind, and I didn’t spend too much time thinking about it. I just went about my day. Life goes on, doesn’t it?

In the meantime, fires were spreading and raging all around us.

Running a few errands, the smoke in the air became more and more noticeable. By the time we got home, the air was hazy and the smell of smoke even more prominent. I made a big mistake by checking social media instead of the news, and local groups were filled with posts by understandably traumatized people.

I sat down and promptly lost all sense of direction and function. Fear gripped me, overwhelm, and the exhaustion of what we had lived through. It was like someone took my essence and removed all of it out of my body. I was limp with fear, distress and worst of all, inaction. You see, all through my life, I have known that action helps me feel better. That is how I survive and move through. In the face of this fear and overwhelm, I can fill the dishwasher or clean out the junk drawer and lose myself in the task at hand. It helps recalibrate me, until I can move ahead.

Sitting there, I couldn’t even begin to do that. Mentally, I kept packing my “to-go” bag, and I knew exactly what I would take and what is most important to me. I couldn’t think beyond that. Have you ever seen the movie Leap Year? One of the main characters asks if you have sixty seconds to leave, what would you take with you? Have you thought about it? What would you take?

My family mementos are the most important things to me. I have two statues that were on my great-grandfather’s desk, a prayer book from the 1700s that has stayed in my family, and the album of photos my mom left to me. Some precious family photos. That, plus the documents that define our lives are what I would take. The rest I can always replace. Yet, I couldn’t move my body to do any of it. I just sat there.

This overwhelm is part of the collective trauma that permeates this place. We all have our terrors and feelings from Helene. The fires fed into our fears of being displaced again. Why do we stay here? “This place is trying to kill me,” I even cheerfully said to a friend a few days later. Why stay here? Why not move?

Personally, I can’t. Not just yet. Maybe never. Moving would be literally wrenching my roots out from the ground, and I am not ready for that. This is the first place in my life where I felt the roots grow deep into the ground, and all it takes is a quick glance up just going to the grocery store to see the mountains that continue to take my breath away. That feeling is intoxicating, and I can’t give it up. Besides, to be blunt, it’s lousy all over. With perspective, I see that the last five years, and probably even longer, our lives have all been through so much. The world has been through so much. Roots and home keep me grounded and sane. Even if fires are threatening my mental health.

Thankfully, the fires are now contained (huge thanks to our firefighters out there) and while the smoke still lingers, it feels less threatening. At least for today.

Six months. 184 days now. People ask me all the time how this area is doing, and my answer remains the same: Devastation is everywhere. Sure, streets are cleaned up and the trucks are out picking up debris and downed trees. Loved places are literally huge scars as the trees are removed, no longer providing the leafy canopy that we loved and cherished. Businesses are not the same, people are struggling. Yet, I see hope. And resilience. And community. Even as I can’t bring myself (yet) to leave the boundaries of where I live, it glimmers here and there, out of the corner of my eye. Spring is coming, Daffodils are pushing through debris to show off their beautiful yellows.

I let the terror and fear, along with the overwhelm move through me. I named each one as it left me, as I replaced it with the words hope, love and home. My mantra to get through the numbness and the trauma, and keep moving ahead. I look outside as my dogwood tree begins it’s beautiful unfurling, I see the wildlife all around me, the green twirls of grasses and ground cover, spreading and growing. I took deep breaths. This is home. This is my home.

Six months later, it remains home. I may venture out and travel, but when I return, and see those mountains, always always my breath escapes my body as if it can finally, truly breathe again. I exhale, feeling the warmth of the mountains welcoming me back. Who could give up this intoxicating feeling? Not me. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

I am proud of all of us for forging through. Maybe it was evident on the Good Morning America show, maybe you will see it if you visit here. Come visit. Our eyes may still seem a bit haunted, but our smiles and sense of connection to this place and each other will help you feel a bit of its magic as well.

Travel Corner

I did actually venture out this week to a wildflower walk hosted by one of my favorite local native gardens. It was so nice to walk about the early Spring blooms, and marvel at the fleeting blossoms of native plants. A few photos below.

So, until next week, Stucksters! Thanks as always for all your comments. I appreciate your support of my writing, and in your participation in our Stuck Spaces Community.

Cover photo with fire haze over Asheville by Asheville Pictures, with thanks.