Blogfinger

Beach Avenue on the night of the hurricane. Photo by Janet’s daughter, Julianna Cavano

EDITOR’S NOTE: As a new year approaches, Hurricane Sandy is history for those of us fortunate enough to have emerged unscathed. For others, the memories cling, unforgettable.

Janet Mazur

The writer Janet Mazur, who lives with her husband and two daughters in the second block of Abbott, was among those hardy souls who decided not to evacuate on the night Sandy struck. She wrote of the experience on her blog, iamnotwiththeband, describing how they watched the water cascade down the street, “like a horizontal Niagara falls,” climbing ever higher, covering planters, swallowing a car. “Foamy water, the wind lifting little blobs of bubbly foam and depositing them on the doors, the windows, the side of the house.” 

Next came redemption. “The waters receded. Slowly. And then the tops of the plants were visible in those hidden pots and more of that car on Beach Avenue appeared. By dawn, the street unveiled itself – a tangle of sea grass, heaps of boardwalk the size of a mini van randomly piled on a street corner, knee-high sand drifts and even tiny dead fish caught curbside. Meet the new world order. And the damage remains.”

After living without power for 11 days, she wrote afterward, “I will never look at a light switch the same way again.”

In the storm’s aftermath, she found herself thinking about the five stages of grief and how they apply to hurricane recovery. Here is Janet’s version as she looks back on events.

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One: Denial – The morning after the storm, I tried to sweep knee-high sand from Beach Avenue with a flimsy kitchen broom. Heaven forbid anyone drag sand onto our hardwood floors. Meanwhile, power lines are down all along the street, the governor has declared a state of emergency and the basement is full of water.

Two: Anger – With no traffic lights to guide them, more than one impatient driver navigating Rte 33 made obscene gestures or screamed at other drivers who barreled through an intersection. Does anyone remember the rules of the road? And why are we angry at each other? Sandy is no one’s fault.

Three: Bargaining –  Those with wrecked waterfront property promise to NEVER, ever build in the same spot, if only the insurance company, or FEMA or someone will just cover all the damages.

Four: Depression – So many locals are weepy for no reason, lack energy, and nurse an overall melancholy. No surprise considering that we’ve all been knee deep in a hugely traumatic event. We’ve lost more than just stuff — our sense of safety and security has been abruptly upended. Hurricanes happen in Hatteras. Or on the Gulf Coast. This wasn’t supposed to happen to us!

Five: Acceptance – Remembering that the boardwalk where we took long power walks or trained for the Spring Lake Five is no longer there, we adjust. Eventually we settle into a different route. We may even come to like it. Some day/Not just yet.

— Janet Mazur