Well, today's Manic Monday word is "Blow."
I know, I know, this could potentially have been a very fun word to write about, with some not-so-PG-rated results.
But for me, all I could think of was the wind blowing... and that's a scary thing for me to think about. That's because back in November 1998, my home was destroyed by a violent windstorm. And I do mean destroyed. The roof was ripped right off, in the middle of the night, waking me up out of a sound sleep.
It was perhaps the most terrifying moment of my life.
Here's a copy of the e-mail I sent to my friends the next day:
...................................................................................
A terrible thing happened.
My home was destroyed last night.
The winds were so strong that the roof was ripped right off. The walls took a horrible beating, and a few doors were twisted right off their hinges.
Some furniture was crushed and ruined. Debris was flying everywhere. This happened last night (Tuesday) around midnight. I was asleep in bed at the time, and was awakened by the most awful, awful sound I’ve ever heard in my life. I opened my eyes, and saw only sky above me. No ceiling. The power had gone out about three hours earlier, so I wasn’t able to see where I was going as I stumbled around, panicked and hysterical. The winds were SO strong. I can’t describe it. Things were blowing around, papers were flitting away, and I was powerless to stop it. The walls were wobbling, and I was very afraid. I quickly called for help (the phone was still working) and my parents came over to help me load up the few valued possessions I could identify and locate by flashlight. We had to hurry because it sounded like the walls were about ready to blow away.
There was broken glass on the floor. This was from a full-length mirror that was originally in the opposite corner of the bedroom. The wind had thrown it all the way across the room. If I had sat up in bed or got up at the wrong time, I could have been very seriously injured by flying glass. As it is, I have a cut on my foot from walking on it. It’s a small cut. I’m grateful that was my only physical injury. Emotionally, though, I was absolutely out of control. I vaguely remember sitting there in my chair, waiting for mom and dad to arrive, crying and sobbing at the top of my lungs. I kept shouting, "help me."
I was panicked, I was crying, I was hysterical.
I had no idea where the cats were, and it broke my heart to have to leave them there overnight. For all I knew, the place would be decimated by morning, and the cats would either run away into the forest or be hurt by flying debris.
I spent the night at my parents' house, but understandably did not get much sleep.
The next morning (this morning), we made the dreaded journey back to my home to see what could be saved.
Miraculously, the walls were still standing, but many things were completely ruined, crushed, or simply missing. There were ceiling tiles and insulation all over the front yard and along the fence.
There were even things that had been blown up into the trees.
My roof lay over in the field more than 300 feet away. It looked like one big crumpled sheet of paper.
The insurance representative came over and measured that distance: officially, my roof was thrown 373 feet from my home.
My whole family came over to help, loading my possessions onto their vehicles and taking it over to my folks’ house to store there until I have someplace to live.
I can’t even begin to count the number of bags we simply filled with miscellaneous garbage and just threw away.
I am homeless. I will be living with my family until the insurance people replace my home (yes, that’s the good news, at least: the insurance people came out and took one look at the remains of my home—they didn’t even TRY to argue. It was unanimously agreed that there was no way the place could ever be repaired. I’ll be receiving a check for the maximum amount allowed and will use that to find a new place to live.)
Until then, I find myself still very much in denial and shock.
24 hours ago, I still had a home.
Love,
Janna
...................................................................................So you can see why the sound of harsh blowing wind still scares me.
(By the way, the cats ended up being fine... I found them that following morning. They'd wisely chosen to hide in a closet.)
A few months later, I did find a new place to live, which is where I'm still living today. It is a better home than the previous one, which I suppose adds some credence to the theory that things sometimes work out for the best.
Sometimes.
(deep breath.... commence rant...)
