It crept into our house while we were sleeping. I didn’t hear it climbing up the stairs, but something woke me up. I went downstairs and opened the door that lead down into our basement. That’s when the nightmare began.
The creek behind our house had risen several feet and turned our basement into a red murky lake. It was the 100-year flood I assumed would never happen in my lifetime. But it did, on the anniversary of my dad’s death. My first crisis as a divorced and single mom.
I stood there frozen for a second and then ran to get my rubber boots. I was already wading into the water when Anna opened the door and starting crying. She was four. The fear on her face would have glowed in the dark.
“Everything is okay sweetie – we’re safe. Please wait for me right there at the top of the stairs. I need to take care of a couple of things before the water gets any higher.” I didn’t know if it was safe or not. I just knew I had to get the inventory from my business and our family keepsakes out of the dirty water.
I got as much as I could onto higher surfaces and then worked my way back through the debris to Anna. She was hysterical. I hugged her until she stopped crying and then did what most southerners do when bad things happen: I politely changed the subject.
I wanted to keep things as normal as possible for Anna. She needed to be fed and taken to school. That’s when I looked out the window and saw my car submerged in creek water.
Anna sat limply in my lap while I called the car insurance company and waited for Enterprise to come to get us. When I got back home from taking her to school the tow truck was pulling my car out of the water. The driver told me I may not see it again and suggested I remove all our belongings. A wave of filthy water carrying Anna’s toys, books and drawings poured out when I opened the door. I put them all into a trash bag, thanked the man for his help, and walked into my silent and broken house.
After filing claims with both insurance companies there was nothing more I could do until the water receded. I changed clothes and went to work numb. The show must go on.
And it did. For six long and horrible weeks of arguing with adjusters and insurance representatives who all said the contents of my basement weren’t covered by their policy. Only the structure itself. The value of the inventory from my business was $46,000. ”If you look at this clause here, ma’am, bla bla bla.” ”Here’s the number for FEMA.” “I’m sorry for your loss.” Day after day I spent my lunch hour in our rancid basement listening to assholes with clipboards and cameras offer as little assistance as possible. At night I tried to salvage my damp and silty photos one box at a time.
The dumpster arrived in my driveway the following week. With the help of friends, I spent two days throwing away damaged inventory and all the personal things that couldn’t be saved. I cried once an hour as some new discovery of the wreckage was made. The pressed and framed flowers from my wedding bouquet. Hand-written letters from my dad that were no longer legible. Anna’s special this and that, which my subconscious has kindly erased from my memory.
When the dumpster people returned and collected it, I watched the truck ramble down our street and disappear. I was heartbroken.
A few weeks later my mother’s husband was diagnosed with a rare stomach cancer - stage four. They told her it was unlikely he would be with us at Christmas. Thankfully they still had their home. It was a little beach cottage we had financed for them during our marriage. It was my dream come true. My mother would always have a home, and one day it would be Anna’s. I insisted it come to me in the divorce along with our primary residence. With that came both mortgages and all of the credit card debt.
It was a lot for one person to cover, but my salary coupled with the extra money my business brought in was enough to make it all work. The flood changed that. I had to liquidate the remaining inventory and shut it down. The only way I would be able to continue to pay for everything was to refinance one or both houses. It was impossible. My house had depreciated to an almost unrecoverable point due the collapse of the real estate market. When the flood was factored in, it became entirely unrecoverable. The house at the beach was also worth less than I owed.
I was out of options, and would soon be out of money. My accountant, bankers and lawyers all said the only solution was bankruptcy. I would have to give up both houses and start over.
It felt like the end of my world. Everything I had worked so hard for would be stripped away with one signature. I filed.
The week after Christmas I sold almost everything I owned, and Anna and I moved out of our home into a two bedroom apartment.
So did my mother, after she spread the ashes of her husband of 25 years.
Those few months were some of my very darkest, and certainly some of hers.
The following months were no better. I choked back tears when Anna asked when we were going home. I swallowed more tears the next Christmas when she noticed we had no chimney and worried Santa wouldn’t find his milk and cookies. Guilt sat on my chest like a brick when I thought of my mother’s house being taken away from her at a time when she needed it most. Feelings of failure, shame and regret were constant.
I was strong and cheerful on the outside. I went to work every day with a smile on my face, baked cupcakes for Anna and her friends, and tried to embrace these hopefully temporary circumstances. But when I was alone in my bed at night, I cried. A lot. I wanted to go back in time and do it all differently. I wanted another chance to get it right. I wanted to go home.
Eventually feelings of loss were replaced by feelings of hope. I started to feel the relief of not having to face a financial mountain at the first of every month. When I got home from work, I played with Anna without thinking about what I needed to do for the business after she went to bed. I saw the luxury in being able to call the leasing office if something broke or wasn’t working properly. And as luck would have it, my best friend lived right downstairs. We came and went from each other’s apartments like sorority girls on the hall. Our daughters were best friends as well. It was during one of our visits I realized thanks to her friendship I was laughing instead of crying. My life had become simple and easy again. I was relaxed and happy for the first time in years.
It took two years to get my world back together financially. It feels oddly shorter than that to me now. We’ve since moved into a house like one we used to have, and filled it with the things we love including way too many animals. We’re hosting our silly kid parties again and life is back to so much better than normal. The only difference between the old house and this one is I’m still relaxed and happy.
That flood swept through my house and my life four years ago today. This anniversary used to be a reminder of all that I lost. This year it’s a reminder of all that I’ve gained. It sucked like hell to go give up all those things that were so important to me, but what I have now is so much better. I love this house more than the last. I love having one job instead of two. I love spending my free time with Anna making mermaid tails. I love that I have girlfriends and a social life again. Every aspect of my life is better in every way. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.
That flood was a colossal shit storm. When I was standing in the middle of it, it was impossible to see anything but shit. It was just as impossible to hold onto stuff. But that might be the best thing about shit storms. When the calm finally comes, and the air is clear again, you can see the best is still waiting for you on the horizon. Likewise you realize holding onto stuff is dumb because you need both hands free to hold onto a unicorn. And you sure as hell want to be ready when that next miracle comes galloping along.
