Barrett Rainey's Second Thoughts

Over the past few days, I’ve made several attempts to write a column for this space dealing with Hurricane Ian’s romp across mid-Florida.

Watching the news coverage, I’m literally left powerless when trying to create a word picture dealing with what happened. It’s just not possible.

So, let these few words be the last attempt.

I’ve a friend who visits Sanibel Island several times a year. He said simply“There’s nothing left.” A recent news story said the island would not be habitable for a year. No infrastructure. “Nothing left.”

Checking with another friend who lives in the Fort Meyers region, I was told Ian left major damage in and around Fort Meyers but, he only lost a few shingles and a bit of siding. Close call. Much more fortunate than those thousands who have nothing left.

For those of us living in hurricane-free places, it’s easy to close the books on Ian and go about our normal business. But, what about them? What about the thousands who have nothing to go back to? Nothing left. Just dirt. Just water.

Some reporter reminded us of the homeless on Central Florida’s coast. What about them? No facilities. No place for a meal and none of the usual volunteers who – instead of serving lunches – have their hands full just finding shelter and meals for their own families.

These tidbits could go on and on. But, the real point of any attempt to describe the Florida story always comes back to the same place: nothing left. Nothing.

If you or I haven’t come home to an empty lot – tried to find that lot where there are no road signs or landmarks – been forbidden to go home by local law enforcement – can’t find our friends or, in even worse cases, some of our family – been told there’s nothing left to go home to – well, it’s impossible for us to feel the depths of loss now the constant companion of so many Floridians.

For thousands, no home, no place of work, no neighborhood, no car, no boat, no docks, no shopping center – nothing.

Adding to the mountain of loss, many homes and businesses were not covered by flood or hurricane insurance. Now, some have 20 years or so left on a mortgage and the secured property is gone. Just gone.

Ian came. And, Ian left. But, thousands of lives will never be the same.

In our neighborhood, we don’t have hurricanes. We don’t have tsunami’s. We don’t have the risk of massive, Florida-style flooding. Or, winds measured by the hundreds of mile-per-hour.

It’s not possible for us to feel what they feel. We – unlike them – are insulated from the likes of Ian. We watch the TV, turn it off and go to bed. A safe, warm bed. And, we’ll wake up in the morning, padding around the house while the coffee brews.

What about them?

 

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