28/11/2024
The Night That Changed My Life Forever
Friday, January 27, 2023, began as an ordinary, rainy evening. I was in my home - a small property in a quaint town where rolling hills kiss the sky and birdsong warms the heart.
The storm came without mercy. The rivers, once tranquil, swelled into raging torrents that consumed everything in their path. I watched helplessly as the deluge swallowed my home, turning my treasured belongings into relics of the deep. Panic set in as I dialled the emergency line, only to reach overwhelmed operators. “Wait,” they instructed. “We received too many calls before yours”- and then the line went dead. At that moment, I felt utterly deserted and betrayed.
There was no time to hesitate. Survival demanded action. I grabbed my handbag, my late cats’ little urns, and my mobile phone. With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I stumbled toward the back porch, facing the storm's relentless assault. My property had become an island, surrounded by deep water, with no safe passage in sight.
Thankfully, my rescuers arrived swiftly, though they had no boats or sophisticated equipment - only makeshift solutions. A broken garden gate, improvised out of necessity and sheer determination, became my lifeline. With my heart steady and my mind clear, I stepped onto the vessel, fully focused on the task of survival. The storm raged around us, but I felt a strange calmness - a kind of clarity that comes when fear transforms into action. As we reached safety, I looked back at my home. It stood defiant against the stormy night sky, battered but unbroken, much like I felt in that moment.
My rescuers were ordinary men before that night - local firefighters, police officers, volunteers, and perhaps even strangers, who became heroes under the weight of the storm. Despite the danger, they waded through floodwaters up to their necks, battling fierce currents and relentless rain, driven by a purpose greater than fear. As they guided me through the flood, I knew I was witnessing something rare and profound: the kind of bravery that asks for nothing in return. They saved my life, and countless others, without hesitation or recognition. In the darkest of times, they shone a light, restoring my faith in humanity.
These men are my heroes, and I will carry their kindness with me forever. Because of them, I was given a second chance - to rebuild, to remember, and to honour their courage by telling my story.
The Aftermath
The next day, as the waters receded, I stepped into the remnants of my world, and the true weight of the disaster began to sink in. My doors were blocked by stuff caked in mud, and as I forced my way inside, I was confronted by the full devastation of what had been my home - overturned furniture, waterlogged walls, soaked belongings, and sentimental treasures piled high in disarray. It was in the stillness of that moment that the tears finally came.
Yet, amid the wreckage, one thing remained untouched: a single painting of a palm tree against a clear blue sky. It stood as a symbol of resilience and hope. In that moment, I realised that while possessions could be lost to the tides, the essence of home - the love, the memories, the soul of it, remained unbroken within my heart.
The Next Nine Months
The next nine months were among the most challenging of my life. As I stood amidst the rubble, I realised that rebuilding my home would take time but rebuilding my life and spirit would take even longer. What I didn’t know then was just how strenuous the months ahead would be, testing my willpower in ways I could never have anticipated.
Initially, I stayed in a motel near my house, but after three weeks, the management informed me they couldn’t extend my stay - they were expecting tourist groups and needed my unit. Desperate, I managed to book another motel nearby, but only for a couple of weeks. They too, prioritised larger groups over a single guest.
Eventually, I found more compassion in another town, 70 kilometers from my property. My stay there was both pleasant and healing, but it came with a heavy price - I often had to make the exhausting drive back home to oversee the renovation work. The physical and emotional toll of these trips was immense. Delays and obstacles became my constant companions.
To make matters worse, my home, along with other flood-damaged properties, was repeatedly raided by looters. They stripped everything of value, including the copper components of the plumbing and electrical systems. It felt like being robbed of what little I had left, over and over again.
We were forgotten quickly by everyone. Not a single government official, charity, or community representative ever came to offer help or guidance. I was incredibly fortunate to have insurance and receive the vital support I so desperately needed, although it came with a lengthy delay. But even with that help, the process of rebuilding a life from scratch is exhausting, isolating, and far from complete.
I’ve had to become my own source of strength because no one else stepped up to help - but it shouldn’t be this way. In a supposedly civilized society, disaster victims shouldn’t be left to navigate the aftermath alone, abandoned by the very systems designed to support them.
I hadn’t planned to share my experience, but after seeing similar tragic events unfold recently in other countries, with the same patterns of neglect and systemic failure, I realised how vital it is to speak up. The system is broken, and if we remain silent, nothing will change. We deserve a society that values compassion and accountability - one that ensures no one is left behind in the wake of catastrophe.
If you have read my story to the end - thank you so much! And if you find a minute or two to share it, so it can reach more people and hopefully touch a few hearts, I will be forever grateful to you!
Julia Stewart
