Evacuees Find Comfort in Warm, Supportive Social Connections

As I sit here, waiting out Hurricane Milton in almost the exact same spot I was during Hurricane Ian, I can't help but think it's deja vu all over again.
Two years ago, I'd been living in Florida for less than a year. With a new life I could've never predicted, I couldn't have been more excited about living in my newly adopted state. It only took a blink to make a group of new friends and settle into the neighborhood. T-shirts, flip-flops and shorts, quickly became my daily atire (and happily, my formal atire as well). Hanging out on the Lanai (like Hawaii, we eschew the term patio) with new chums, a rum and pineapple or maybe a martini, while the steaks sizzled on the grill was just not that hard to sign up for.
Yes, I knew when I made the move from the Left Coast to Florida that there was the possiblity of finding myself somehow involved in a hurricane scenario. I'd heard some say that our location was seldom hit, though no one really knew why that might be. And I believed it. I most assuredly wanted to believe it.
The true Floridians, borne and raised, seemed to take pride in sharing their hurricane tales (usually over a bucket of ice cold beers at one of the dozens of beach front and tiki bars.) They seemed to have a different experience than the "we don't get these...often" crowd. I normally hung on every word, enjoying the dramatic, and often what seemed like tall-tales of their experiences. With a pushaway hand motion, they'd say, "Look this shit happens. It's all about how you deal with it. Hell, I been diggin' out all my life, wouldn't live anywhere else. If a little hurricane gets your panties in a bunch, you might find your way back to Milwaukee." Okay, so that didn't sit quite so adorably with me.
My time in law enforcement allowed more than enough thrills and spills over the years and I made the decision early on, that if a big bopper got in my way, I'd just pack my bugout bag and head for anywhere else. For those of you who know me, prudence and caution have not always been hallmarks of my personal style. I guess I'm older now...hence the new me. The more cautious me. The more 'fraidycat me.
So, yes I'm hunkered down here in Ft Lauderdale at an upscale hotel, nursing the remnants of Dewars and soda. And Hurricane Milton is knocking on the door. The Atlantic is hurling up huge drenching waves and the beach is vanishing beneath the relentless, thunderous assault. The wind will soon be howling a full-throated scream, and will be relentlessly buffeting this ten-story concrete and steel monolith. Truthfully, right now, it's not really scary. There's safety here, one can be assured. What it is, is fascinating.
I have friends who've chosen to stay on the west coast of Florida, a couple inside the mandatory evacuation zone. I worry about them. But the main thrust of Milton is north of my hometown. Ft Myers north, inside the cone, those folks have it really rough. I really worry about those that chose not to cut out or who could not for whatever reasons.
So in this hotel, almost everyone is an evacuee from the gulf coast of the state. In a 10 floor elevator ride, people share. They share a lot. They share very personal information about themselves and their families. People seem to want to feel the connection to others that are sharing a similar experience. It seems to be comforting. It is to me. When you listen to each story, they often lean into a life that is likely to never look the same.
From today's elevator ridess:
"I just closed escrow on my home in Matlacha...and furniture was just delivered." It will likely not be there post-Milton.
"I was in rental, waiting for my house to be built. That's not gonna happen now. I lost it in Ian. Two years to get to this point." That home probably won't make it either.
From my hotel experience with Hurrican Ian, two years ago:
"I was evac'd from Ft Myers and went to Naples. Just got everything loaded into a hotel and got evac'd from there. Guess we're gonna be in Ft. Lauderdale for awhile." That home dissolved into the sea.
"My mom and my son, lost it all in Bonita Springs. I'm gonna lose mine too."
So you might think, in hotel packed to the gills with evacuees, their pets of all kinds, stacks of luggage, boxes, bags and an overwhelming waves of emotion, that this would be a somber, anxious crowd. You'd be wrong.
The lobby's filled...the lobby bar has been packed since 930 this morning, most everyone drinking big-boy cocktails and looking out on the beach and the building waves. Glasses tinkle, occasionally a voice raises followed by laughter. Two younger guys are tossing a football across the bar, lots of dogs, all sporting colorful leashes, drag their frazzled owners through lobby. Two hilariously cramped-up cats are hissing and throwing shade at each and every dog, treating their barking and anything else that isn’t feline with utter disdain. People sit in knots sharing different versions of almost the same stories. And still, laughter seems to be a common thread.
Maybe people are too shocked and scared by the enormity of it all and this is a coping mechanism. I'd guess thats true. but still, it's real, for this moment. People are truly enjoying each other, comforting each other. And the most commonly recurring themes are the heartfelt words of encouragement exchanged among everyone. People are sharing text messages and contact info, sharing info on resources and contractors and doctors. And the hotel employees are chiming in. After all, we are not only their customers, they're sharing the same experience with us. And sharing the same advice, solace and laughter. A waitress is sitting on the floor with a big floppy eared dog, feeding him bits of quesedilla she was probably supposed to toss, its owner smiling and slopping back a Bloody Mary.
Outside the lobby, are two FLPD officers talking with a paramedic crew. I'm guessing there's a busy firehouse not too far away. All our first responders will be working through the hurricane and leaving their families at home, fingers crossed, for their loved one's safety. They will be out there in the wind and rain and darkness working to keep the rest of us safe.
Milton's going to be a bitch! And we, in this hotel are some of the luckier ones. Safe, warm, nice environment. There are back up generators, electricity and fully stocked kitchens. If we get the worse case, it'll be a CAT 1 here, not the CAT 3 or 4 that folks are experiencing on the gulf coast. I worry about them. I'll be praying for them.
Thats it for now, back to the news. Chris
Spread the word! Share this blog post and our newly updated website with your fellow thriller enthusiasts. The more, the merrier in our community of suspense lovers! Here's to many more spine-tingling adventures together!
Thank You for being a friend of The Night Police! We hope you enjoyed this post.
Stay thrilled,
Chris Berg and Paul James Smith
Join the Conversation: We’d love to hear your thoughts! Leave a comment below and let us
Comentarios