- My daughter moved from San Francisco to Asheville, North Carolina three years ago.
- I texted him when I heard Hurricane Helene was on his way to see how he was doing.
- I didn’t hear from her for three days, and as I watched the news, I feared the worst.
There is a saying that worry is like a rocking chair. It gives you something to do, but it doesn’t get you anywhere. I found myself going back and forth for three days, imagining the worst for my daughter.
Three years ago, she moved to Asheville, North Carolina, from San Francisco, where she braved the wildfire season for 10 years. After extensive environmental research about places free of major natural disasters, Asheville checked all its boxes.
But then Hurricane Helene hit North Carolina hard.
I lost contact with him
On Thursday evening, I texted him to ask how he was doing. “This rain is crazy,” she texted back, unfazed.
Later Friday, news broke that Helene was pushing flash floodwaters into Asheville at a rapid rate of giant fury. Water was flooding the Swannanoa and French Broad rivers. She lived only above the areas of concern.
The news media recommended that you stay put or go to higher ground. Evacuation was impossible for him. My daughter will have to go through what could be the worst experience of her life. I couldn’t save him.
She sent a series of short texts just before the power went out – “Five trees down outside our building, water and power.” And then: “Stuck here! I love you!”
I replied, “I love you. Are you afraid?”
The text bubble turned green and stayed green for days.
I started looking at maps to see if she might be okay
By Saturday, I was even more shocked and found myself watching YouTube videos where houses collapsed, roofs floated over 22 feet of water, and half of I-40 slid into the abyss in a landslide.
For hours, I studied the flooded fields, trying to estimate the distance from my daughter’s apartment building to the center of the disaster. I virtually met with other concerned friends and family in the Buncombe County Community Facebook group.
A woman shared that her sister was pregnant and stuck on top of her roof in Montenegro, a neighborhood where my daughter lived when she first moved there. Another person said a helicopter was on its way to rescue the pregnant woman. We shared addresses and tears.
I used Zillow to look up the address of her building. I also used the 360º feature to imagine safety scenarios, including the one where Helena saved my heart.
I joined online dating to distract myself
My little girl reminded me all Saturday afternoon of her older sister’s ingenuity, her ability to think on her feet, and the fact that she has a Berkey filter, a water filtration system, that holds enough water for several day. My partner said she had neighbors near her; she was not alone.
I found an update online Live Zoom. City officials from Buncombe County outlined next steps after floodwaters receded. They also talked about the loss of life.
None of them reassured me. I disturbed myself intermittently, taking out the aggression in cleaning the floors.
I couldn’t get over the images of people’s lives being washed away on the Weather Channel. I stayed awake for 48 hours after our texts stopped and calls went straight to voicemail.
As a therapist, I know that none of this helps or manages stress, and yet my nervous system couldn’t take me to a higher level.
Finally she reached out in the middle of the night
By Saturday evening, I was directed to a Missing Persons form for Buncombe County. I filled in her address, hoping she still existed. I imagined officials making the dreaded call that they couldn’t find him.
I replayed our last conversation, grateful that we had overcome some of our mother-daughter differences. I sent her a flood of green texts, telling her I was praying for her, thinking about her every day, and hoping she was safe. I even prayed for a chainsaw to appear. I read about a woman who was using one to clear fallen trees.
My body gave out at 1am on Sunday and I fell asleep.
At 04:08 my phone rang. Then, when I failed to reach mine, my partner’s phone rang louder. It was my daughter; she was sure.
She and her partner borrowed a chainsaw from a neighbor. They cut down trees and made a path for their neighbors. They showed how they had zero information. Nothing made sense until they began to see the catastrophic details with their own eyes. They did not know why no one was coming to help them.
After using the chainsaw, they could reach others in their community, clear trees and bring food and water to friends. They said they must have raised a thousand pounds between them. Their voice was energetic and full of life.
I indulged in this momentary joy. I listened to the voicemail she left early this morning. I will save the sweet voice of safety, knowing we are spared this time.
I texted him on Monday, asking if he was getting some rest.
“A little. I have nightmares,” she replied, with a crying emoji. At least it was blue.