Hurricanes and Hope

My Experience with Two Hurricanes in Two Weeks

September 26, 2024
Helene made landfall, and I found myself taking shelter in Gulfport, Florida, just a few blocks from the coast.

When you first arrive in Florida, it welcomes you with sunny skies, the ocean breeze, and maybe even some reggae music blasting from open car windows. But what was in store for me—and many others—was far less idyllic: two hurricanes in the span of just two weeks—Helene and Milton.

I’d never experienced a hurricane before, so I was nervous. I did what any reasonable person would—or so I thought. I stocked up on food, hunkered down indoors, and tried to distract myself with Netflix. As the wind howled and the rain hammered down, I sat listening to the storm rage outside.

By some miracle, we didn’t lose power during Helene, though I remember seeing a transformer explode in the distance while staring out the window, the loud bang and flicker of dome like light illuminated in the dark sky —a stark reminder of how fragile things were. We had also braced for an extreme storm surge, one of the highest predicted in 100 years. Thankfully, the water never reached us, but others weren’t as lucky.

The next morning, we ventured out into the neighborhood to witness the aftermath. What we saw was pure devastation. Trees were snapped in half like twigs, littering the streets. Garbage and debris of all sorts were scattered everywhere, a grim testament to the storm's power. The smell was vile, like rotting fish.

Everywhere we looked, people were in recovery mode—clearing branches, airing out homes, and dragging waterlogged furniture to the curb. It was heartbreaking to see entire living rooms abandoned on the sidewalk, ruined by the flood. Boats, normally docked safely, had been tossed into the middle of the streets.

Just as people began to pick up the pieces of their broken homes, the news broke—another hurricane was on its way, projected to be even stronger than Helene, and it was headed straight for Tampa, putting us directly in its path.

We knew staying this time was too risky. So, like many others who could leave, we packed up and headed to a safer location. All the bridge were gridlocked with people trying to leave and get their families to safety.

October 10, 2024
Milton tore through Florida, leaving chaos in its wake.

When we returned three days later, our entire community was still in darkness. Milton caused even more destruction across Florida. A crane had toppled onto a high-rise, and massive trees the size of buildings were uprooted everywhere. Power lines were down, sewage services were unavailable, and almost every store remained closed. Many people came home to trees crushing their houses and vehicles, water inside their homes, fences ripped apart and much more.

Millions of people were without power, plunging neighborhoods into complete darkness when the sun went down. The only light came from police cruisers patrolling the streets, illuminating just enough to help people move around.

The destruction was everywhere—but I noticed something happening in the community. Despair slowly shifted into resilience. Neighbors helped each other without hesitation, smiling as they worked side by side. People gathered around lanterns at night, in high spirits, their laugher echoed in the darkness. Donations flowed and businesses capable of opening served the community, and even those with little shared what they could. 

A vivid memory I will never forget was of a little old lady —easily in her 90's— hunched over, wearing a giant tan sunhat, oversized sunglasses, gardening gloves a size to big, gripping her tiny gardening tool, ready for work. You go, Grandma!

Inspired by her determination, we joined a volunteer group to do our part, assembling hygiene kits for people who had lost access to basic needs. Through this simple act, we saw firsthand how small efforts could ripple outward, strengthening our community in profound ways.

If these hurricanes taught me anything, it’s that the true measure of humanity lies in these moments of kindness/selflessness. When storms—both literal and metaphorical—tear through our lives, the people who uplift and inspire us become our anchors. Their strength reminds us that even in the darkest times, we can find hope, rebuild, and rise together.