In Solidarity with those in the Path of Milton
Every time a Hurricane forms in the Gulf, I'm right there with you.
Watching the Florida Gulf Coast brace for the impact of Hurricane Milton - a mere two weeks after dealing with Helene - is especially gut-wrenching. That’s because in 2005, my wife and I were living in New Orleans when Hurricane Katrina rolled through and flooded the Lower Ninth and much of the City we loved. And we were the lucky ones: The night before, we miraculously found a USAirways e-saver flight to Philly, where my wife’s family lived at the time. The tickets were - literally - two of the last tickets on the last flight out of NOLA before the Hurricane. On our way to the airport we said that if Tulane University closed, we would board the plane. About halfway out, Tulane closed and off we went.
We didn’t go home for more than a month.
As Katrina bore down on NOLA, we faced tough choices about what to take and what to leave behind. But those choices were nothing compared to what we ultimately grappled with: Job Loss, Housing Loss, my wife Changing Schools. The worst might’ve been waiting around to see what we could reassemble of our lives once we knew we were physically and emotionally OK. The waiting….dang, it sucked.
So I know how disorienting it can feel to be uprooted, to find yourself without the familiar comforts of home. It’s more than the physical possessions—the feeling of instability and the emotional toll weighs surprisingly heavy long after the skies are clear. The uncertainty of that time in our lives makes me empathize with those trying to reassemble their lives in Asheville, and makes worry about those fearing the worst in Fort Myers.
But the most remarkable thing about the aftermath of Katrina was the outpouring of support from total strangers. The guys at Mattress Firm delivered our new mattress for free. The elderly woman who helped me connect with the Newton (MA) Housing Authority to find cheap (and eventually free) post-Katrina housing. The property management company that gave us a rent-free apartment and a coffee maker, and let us pirate their wifi (er, I think they let us pirate their wifi….)
Total “randos” (as my kids call them) were generous with their time, resources, and most all of: Their Empathy.
We are human beings after all.
So if you’re in the path of Hurricane Milton, it’s okay to feel scared, anxious, or even royally pissed off. (I felt the same way back in 2005 (I’m still pissed off at GWB’s comment about FEMA Director Michael Brown, “Brownie, You’re Doing a Heckuva Job”. Was he, G-Dub? Was he now?)
But whatever you are feeling, those feelings are valid. So lean on those around you, physically or virtually, because no one should have to go through this alone. Here’s wishing you the kindness and support we received after Katrina from people you have never met but are ready to help. They’re out there, like a guardian angel with a Mr. Coffee.
But I can’t tell you that it will be easy. What I can tell you is that it’s possible to come out stronger on the other side. My wife and I are - I think - testament to that. And in the midst of it all, remember: You are not alone. Many of us have walked this road before, and we stand with you now, offering our compassion, help, and hope for brighter days ahead.
So, to all of you on the Gulf Coast of Florida: Stay safe, take care of yourselves and each other, and know we are all pulling for you.