After Sandy

As I write this, thousands of people, hundreds of thousands have not yet begun to pick up the pieces of their devastated lives, and many never will. Hurricane Sandy knocked the wind out of much of the east coast. People died, lost children and parents, lost homes, lost everything. There is just no wrapping my mind around the scope of the tragedy.

My family got off easy.We lost power for only three days. It was inconvenient, storing food on ice on the back deck; living by candlelight; coming home to a cold, dark house; being disconnected from everyone; mostly, worrying about R., who was stranded in NYC with neither power nor water (and who, blessedly, made it home when the railroad resumed partial service two days after the hurricane struck). But we were safe. We were protected. We always had plenty of hot food, because the gas stove worked. And we had water. Most important, we had each other. Sure, it was cold and depressing. Walking through our door, for those brief three days, felt like entering a cave. We’d rush in and stumble around for matches, lighting as many candles as we could to create as much of a glow as possible, the semblance of warmth. Time was precious: The days ended when the sun set. Goals were simple: Get as much as possible done before darkness hit. Don’t waste candles. Don’t waste matches. Don’t waste time.

Sandy brought life to a screeching halt, and it left a trail of ruin. It also gave me a lesson in gratitude: for the C batteries that powered an old portable radio, which brought NPR into my dark, silent kitchen; for the neighbors I bumped into and commiserated with; for the chance to escape the distractions of e-mail, YouTube, telephones and train whistles; for the matches that lit the gas burners that allowed me to heat up food that I ate by candlelight with my kids; for conversations with them that dug deeper than usual because we had little else to do but talk and tend candles, collecting their melting wax in paper cups to keep their flickering flames from drowning.

My small world is spinning again, and yet I struggle to move forward. It feels unjust, somehow, to reclaim my life while so many cannot reclaim theirs. I am distracted by thoughts of those who remain engulfed in disaster. And, I am sorry to lose the stillness that had been forced upon me and for the transience of the deep gratitude I felt for the simplest things.