Tag Archives: hurricane

Post Hurricane Thoughts

Well, I’m probably over-posting on Facebook about Hurricane Irma and the devastation it caused in Saint Martin. I have an awful lot to say about it, though, especially as new updates keep coming through. I figure if you want to know what I have to say about the situation, you’ll read this. And look– here you are!

 

Med Students are OK

After a semi-sleepless night a couple days ago and plenty of tears, I finally started hearing from friends who had been out of contact for a day after the storm.

The people who sheltered in American University of the Caribbean are safe, and not only that, anyone with any medical training (even first semester med students) are volunteering in a makeshift clinic! They even delivered a baby! What a birth story.

Many of the students, spouses and kids were able to evacuate to Puerto Rico. Many others, mostly students, stayed behind.

 

 

 

Tom and Lisa are OK

If you follow me on social media, you probably know a bit about Tom and Lisa Burnett, who ran Player Development Program in Sint Maarten.

I used to go there most days to tutor and mentor the kids. Player Development blew away and the pieces are yet to be found.

But Tom and Lisa (plus their four dogs) are safe! I could breathe easier after I found that out. Their neighborhood was hit very hard.

They survived the storm huddled on a mattress under their table, both of them plus of the four dogs. They stayed there all day, through the storm and even after their roof was ripped off. I am shaking right now just thinking about it.

 

 

 

Still Waiting to Hear from Local Friends

I started following more SXM residents on social media to keep up with videos and photos. Many people seem to be OK and in shelter, but strictly rationing food and water, and in perhaps in pain.

The need help but it is hard to know what to do. Samaritan’s Purse has a fund now, and I they are delivering much needed help! If you want to help, give to them. But I haven’t heard much else, although a friend of mine with a Canadian Rotary Club is planning to try to ship down supplies and suggested that I call my local airport to see which airlines are willing to ship relief supplies down.

I haven’t heard from too many people since the main cell tower was taken out by the storm, and the power company as well, I believe.

Our former foster son, Roland and Laura Richardson, the families from my baseball team, the foster homes, the staff at the medical school, and many other friends still aren’t online yet. So keep praying.

I just keep thinking about how bad I’ve been at communication lately. My life is so out of control right now and I put everyone else on the back burner. I guess you don’t realize you’re doing that until your friends are in a life-threatening situation and you remember that the last thing you said was some stupid thing about doughnuts or worse, nothing at all for the past few weeks.

There’s nothing like the fear that you might have lost someone to make you think of all the stuff you wish you said to them last week.

 

 

 

I’m Grieving

I think I’m going through the stages of grief. I’m partially in denial, because how can those photos be real when they don’t match my memories? That flooded street covered in debris was a sunlit lane when I walked down it just a few months ago.

I can close my eyes and go back to the way it was. I can see and hear and feel and smell every part of the island.

I can hear the way it sounds to knock on the door of one of my baseball kid’s house. In my mind it is still there.

I can feel the gravel at player development under my feet and see the books and toys and everything.

I can see the view from my old balcony like I am standing there again. Pretty sure that balcony blew away.

I can taste the shawarmas at Little Jerusalem and hear the “clink, clink” of Abe and Cathy chopping up meat on the grill.

But then there are those photos of the destruction, the videos of the looting. It’s hard to reconcile.

 

 

 

I Should Be There

And there is this overwhelming sense of guilt, because somehow I feel like I am supposed to be there.

Maybe I wouldn’t be saying this if I’d actually gone through it, but I’d rather have stuck out the day in AUC, where the hurricane shelter was strong and safe, than be here wondering and waiting and watching from afar.

I’d rather be out dragging palm fronds off the street right now. Or something else useful. Maybe that sounds dumb, and maybe it is dumb.

It’s stupid to want to be stuck on an island when so many people are suffering and desperately awaiting help and wanting to leave.

I feel stupid. And useless.

People reading this are probably going to think I’m trying to be some kind of weird martyr or something, but I think I’m just really emotional and stressed out.

I actually called Jet Blue yesterday to find out if I can fly down and when, but I couldn’t get through because they’re too busy handling the crisis.

I don’t even know what I would do if I did go. It’s not like they need more people to use up rations, anyway.

So anyway, now we’re both depressed, you’re welcome. Maybe I should go back to journaling instead of blogging.

That’s what things look like from my perspective.

Now just waiting for Irma to hit Florida, and I can’t wait until that is done and the power is back and I can hear from everyone.

 

Photo Credit Flash Meteo Antilles

Sint Maarten: In the Eye of Hurricane Irma

Today is one of the worst days in SXM history.

Today is the day that Hurricane Irma hit, with Jose close on its heels.

Twenty-two years ago to the day, Hurricane Luis devastated the island, wreaking havoc and destroying the homes and livelihoods of so many.

I have walked through La Belle Creole, a resort that was destroyed by Luis. The ruins of the building, blown out windows, scattered furniture, and torn drapes, became a frequent haunt of mine. I could not imagine the winds that whipped the concrete walls into such shapes.

 

 

And now it’s happening again.

Just yesterday, Saint Martin was as I remember it: 37 beautiful beaches, architecture historic and new, brightly colored homes lined up neatly at the ocean’s edge.

When I go back, nothing will be the same. All the places I love will be gone. Will I recognize beautiful Soualiga?

The places might be gone, but as long as the people are OK, that is enough.

 

Photo Credit Flash Mateo Antilles

 

There was a terrible space of a few hours when all was silent on the island. The live camera at Holland House abruptly cut out, and the outside world had no contact with the island.

Here, in my new home in Michigan, the clear, blue skies and sunshine seem to mock the screaming destruction on the island.

Finally, Saint Martin has entered the eye of the hurricane. People are emerging from their safe spaces to assess the damage and find more secure places to stay.

I breath a sigh of relief every time I saw a post on Facebook from a friend.

But I cried at each new photo and video.

The island is under water.

 

The government buildings are destroyed, said the news.

They say 7,000 French Caribbean people refused to take shelter.

They say the historic buildings are wrecked.

I can see that the cars are all destroyed. Where will people come up with the money for new cars?

I can see buildings I know with roofs ripped off and water feet deep inside.

I can see people milling about in disbelief.

The eye of Hurricane Irma is twice as large as my tiny island.

 

Photo Credit Flash Meteo Antilles

 

What do you do in times like this? I know many of my friends are safe and secure on the campus of American University of the Caribbean, a category five hurricane shelter. But many people are not there.

Many people will take shelter, but still lose their houses.

Many people have actual homes on the island, and not just rented apartments and dorms.

The maelstrom around my island is mirrored by a maelstrom in my mind.

 

Photo credit Cyriel Richardsom

 

What is sunshine?

What is birdsong?

My reality cannot be real,

Not when the storm is the only reality for my island.

There’s something painfully agonizing about not being there.

Part of me is glad I moved away before the storm.

 

Photo Credit RCI

 

Part of me wishes I was there to help with the clean up.

I know I’d be OK in the basement of the medical school.

I know I could help rebuild.

But I can’t do that from here, and it’s making me sad already.

The damage isn’t even done, and the second half of the storm is still on its way.

Some stupid article about Donald Trump’s Saint Martin home keeps landing in the top posts on Google.

Who cares about Donald Trumps freaking house?

I doubt even Donald Trump cares about his freaking house.

I don’t care about an empty vacation home on Plum Bay going down.

I care about the shipping container homes on Pond Island.

I care about the family homes and foster homes in Dutch Quarter and St. Peter’s.

I care about the little beach houses in Philipsburg.

I care about the houses of all shapes and sizes filled with people I love and people I’ve never met.

 

 

I’m amazed that GEBE survived the storm and that power is still on.

I’m thankful, too, to see posts on Facebook and Twitter.

I’m glad you are OK.

What amazes me is that in the midst of the storm, people are praising God.

In a video of the destruction, a woman thanked God for being alive, even as she showed the wreckage of her hometown and Jeep.

My friend posted this video on Facebook: Made a Way by Travis Greene.

It’s strange how so much loss puts things in perspective. When everything is lost, the people of Saint Martin are thanking God for the things they still have: their lives and each other.

Why did God let a storm like this hit Saint Martin?

I wish I had the answer to that.

But I’m glad to see that people can still say he is good when everything in their lives has suddenly been lost in the storm.

Stay strong, SXM. Stay faithful.

 

 

This storm is going to hit a lot of places, but there are those of us on the outside who are thinking of you and praying for you.

There are people who are crying tears for you even as you are in hurricane shelters.

There are people who see your pain and feel it with you.

You’ve recovered from storms before. You can do it again.

Saint Martin can’t be taken down by the wind and the rain.