Irene Weekend

Irene was my first hurricane. As a mom, I kept a worried eye on the news and went over the “keep safe” checklist, over and over again. As a writer, and a crazyperson, I was a bit excited. It’s like scaling a top mountain peek, or finishing a novel. Even as the “responsible mom” me boiled eggs (way too many), baked potatoes and counted cans of veggies, that other me prepared my special “descriptive” notebook, and got ready to jot down the details as Irene barreled down toward the Jersey Shore. Toward us.

I was doing well at first. After I took my dog for that last pre-hurricane walk in the first rain, I wrote about the neighbors fussing around with their cars, men nailing their doors shut, some of them. I wrote about the strangely hushed street, except for the whoosh of the gathering wind, and the sounds of dogs barking behind closed doors.

But for the rest of the weekend, I found myself putting that notebook aside. With CNN and News 12 New Jersey screaming warnings in the background, Saturday mostly became about my family– just waiting, waiting, waiting together as we painted (we painted houses and hurricanes), played Barbies and later received the first terrifying warning of a tornado in our area (a tornado that, thankfully, never did pass). We barricaded the windows of our living room with our couch and set three mattresses on the floor, where the five of us — two adults, two kids and the dog — slept together. We agreed that if we heard a terrible tornado-like roar, or a great whistle, or a crash, we’d run to the laundry room — maybe the sturdiest place in the house. We told our daughter to stop crying, because all that mattered was that she was with us, and that we would do everything to keep her safe.

“Will anyone die during the night?” my daughter asked me.

By then I knew there were several victims from this hurricane already, so I couldn’t outright tell her “no.” (I am not always good with such white lies — the lies we say to our kids to protect them). I said firmly, “No one you know will die.” It was more of a hope than a promise, still, it was good enough for her.

We were all tired out from all that waiting, and the news, and the warnings, so we were ready to sleep. Still sometimes I woke up, listening. The writer and the mom, waiting to hear the screaming of the approaching tornado. What would is sound like? Will the “barricade” hold long enough for us to make it into the laundry room?

But I didn’t hear anything special. Just the rain pummeling at our roof and our windows. The wind, now whistling fiercely, then just as suddenly hushing, bringing in utter quiet, as though Irene was making fun of all the fuss we have made about her. I fell into a dream to the sound of my family sleeping, my daughter’s hand clutched tight in mine.

In the morning, I woke up a little disappointed that I didn’t get to capture more exciting details. Mostly, I woke up grateful, for the brightening sky outside the kitchen window, grateful to be here.