Carrying On

Hurricane Helene says ‘Hi.’

Dear Reader,

I need your reassurance. Tell me I am much stronger than I realize. Tell me the ordeal of Helene will soon be over.

Tell me it’s okay to not smell so great if I haven’t showered or had power for 10 days. Tell me it’s okay to not have clean clothes and hair that might ignite if I stand too close to an open flame. Tell me it’s okay to not have close friends in a place I have only lived for two months.

Tell me it’s okay to be lonely. To feel invisible. Tell me it’s okay to weep if I find a bag of ice to buy.

This is my second hurricane. I lived in Charleston when Hugo hit it in 1989. I was 33 years old. I was a single mom with two young daughters and I had just become a licensed professional counselor (LPC) in the state of South Carolina. To say I was a bit green was an understatement.

Living through Hugo was a study of grief.

Anything psychologically unresolved for my clients was unearthed and scattered by the wind in a few short hours.

In my office, clients sobbed about the number of trees destroyed in their yards. Or a father who died when they were ten. They sat wide-eyed at the turn a life can take when wind and water come ashore. They remembered childhood traumas. I began to remember my own.

After Hugo I was ready to leave South Carolina—a place I loved—and move to higher ground. I moved to Asheville. I have lived several places since then. Mainly mountains. Higher ground.

Last summer I moved back to South Carolina—the Upstate. Two months later, I experienced my second hurricane—Helene— with similar results.

Thirty-three years of life went on in-between these storms. A life full of joy, grief, a career change (I write novels now, some of them bestsellers), clean clothes, and ice. And yes, one is about a hurricane.

If Hugo was a lesson in grief, what do I still have to grieve? I know in my heart that the better question is: what do I have to be grateful for?

At 68, I have lived through many storms in my life. Working through them, I have become stronger, more loving, kinder. And much more gentle with myself.

Life is hard. Full stop. Period. We lose people. We lose things. We can’t avoid it. It is part of life. We persevere. We carry on.

To my neighbors, a week into the power outage, I inquire, “How are you holding up?” They all answer some version of terrible or awful. I sit with them out in the sun. We talk about what we will do first when the power comes back on. (Shower!) We talk about how we cope. (I read!) But it is a difficult situation for everyone.

No one seeks my council anymore, but I am a witness to their grief.

None of us are alone. Even in the most gentle of circumstances, we are all in the same boat, on the same power grid. When it comes down to it, we are all vulnerable.

When storms come, go easy on yourself. Enjoy a glass of iced tea. Ask people how they are holding up. Give people a hug. Take a walk. We are all going through a rough time, even without hurricanes. Make lists of what you are grateful for. Carry on.

Love you!

Susan