12/23/2024
This was written by my Elementary Priniple. It expresses Helene in the best possible way. Unless you have been here, its hard to explain. This is the closest I've read.
THIS IS ONE FOR THE HISTORY BOOKS! AND ONE TO TELL YOUR GRANDCHILDREN! THE STORY OF THE STORM HELENE IN WESTERN NORTH CAROLINA…🙏❤️
Unless you have lived it.... you can't begin to imagine.
You can't imagine the love. You can't imagine the generosity. You can't imagine the kindness. The willingness. The selflessness. The compassion of a stranger. The friendships formed. The neighborhoods that became family.
Until you've needed money, and a stranger has handed it to you.... Until you've needed heat, and a friend brought propane, or wood, or blankets, or tents. Until you hiked the river beds to get home, and someone brought new boots because yours were leaking or the soles fell off. Until you've shared everything you have and there is no more, and a big truck rolls in with exactly what you were lacking.
This still happens. Every single day.
Simple things, like gas for the car if you were lucky enough to retain a car. Dents don't bother us. Water, when there was no water. Food, when there was no food. Socks, when ours were gone. Clothes, when many had escaped with what was on their backs. Shelters, when ours were gone.
Laundry services, and folks that we'd never seen before washing our stinky, smelly clothes. Bathrooms in parking lots.
It took a pretty good while for those services to come to town. Until then, we all just did what we could.
The churches and fire departments started feeding people. A LOT of people. Our restaurants donated all their food. All of it. Our people wouldn't go hungry. Our coffee shops gave everything they had to every one they could. If there was meat, it got grilled up and served in parking lots. If there was water, it got carried door to door.
You can't imagine the fear, unless you heard the rain, and felt the wind ripping your mountains away from you. Until you've been soaked to the bone for days and didn't really notice it because you were busy about other things.
You can't imagine the helplessness, as you watched homes float down the river. And cars. And trees. Big trees. And oil tanks. And heavy equipment. And bridges. And animals. And people.
You can't imagine the mud. The overwhelming, smelly, horrific mud.
So. Much. Mud.
You can't imagine the helicopters unless you heard them. The sirens. The dump trucks. The linemen. The first responders. The law enforcement. The leaders. The followers. The search and rescue boats. The chainsaws.
Holy cow, the chain saws.
You can't imagine how bad it was. How bad it STILL is. How scary. How humbling. How the tears still fall pretty often. How much if affects us when the wind blows, or when we see a mud puddle start to form.
You also can't imagine how good it was. How good people became, with one rain drop. How quickly they literally rescued their neighbors. How this whole country has decided to make sure the Mountains have Christmas this year.
Volunteers.
When we've dug mud until we can't dig any further, they take over. When we've cut trees and piled brush til there's no more cutting, they've picked up the saws. When we have piled up our belongings so high we can't reach the top, they've jumped on the pile and struck a match, or hauled it off.
Little gravel pathways hand shovled to camper doors, so ladies didnt have to truck through the mud...gift cards slipped into our pockets to buy groceries for the weekend....school kids shopping for their parents at free Santa Shops so even mom and dad can have a little Christmas.....
It's been much. Very, very, very MUCH.
It's been all the love. All the hurt. All the horror. All the humility. All the good and all the bad.
We feel it all. Deeply. To our very bones.
Eventually, the mold will die. The mud will be shoveled out. The trucks will haul something besides gravel. The bridges will be crossable. We won't drive with blind stares so we don't have to keep hurting our eyeballs with what we are seeing.
The flowers will bloom. The gardens will grow. The trees will be replanted. The front doors will close on rebuilt homes. The cars will be run through a carwash. The boots will last a bit longer.
Our hearts will never be the same. Ever. Not ever.
We will never forget the generosity. The goodness. The helpfulness.
We won't forget the bad. Not possible.
We also won't forget the good. Not possible either.
Unless you've lived it, you just can not imagine.
