The Lucky Ones
After Hurricane Helene, survivor's guilt and gratitude
We are the lucky ones. Our house, about 40 minutes west of Asheville, is intact and we have running water. We only lost internet and cell service for four days, which was long for our 3-year-old son but not terrible for his parents. After the storm cleared, I drove to my friend Kellyn’s house and knocked on her door. Did she and her 4-year-old daughter need anything? Did they want to play?
This is how our days passed after Hurricane Helene: Playdates the old-fashioned way. Walks to the skate park so the kids could slide down the ramps. Sharing eggs and cookies and news we heard on our ancient boombox radio (What’s that? my son asked when we plugged it in).
On the second morning another family arrived at Kellyn’s house, because their home had flooded and they didn’t have power. She fed them and lent them her shower. All the kids played like it was a preschool holiday invented for them. I brought diapers for their baby and they waited in line to buy diesel for Kellyn’s car. It was a cooperative, idyllic response to tragedy.
That weekend, I got so bored that I vacuumed the house and cleaned the bathroom. I found an old can of pumpkin puree and baked pumpkin bread. At night, without access to television, I read an ENTIRE BOOK on the couch, lying there for so long my back got sore. I haven’t done that since I was pregnant four years ago. My husband sorted his coin collection. Rather than streaming a true-crime show, we cuddled in bed before we fell asleep. Being unplugged was oddly good for us.
Then the internet came back, and we learned of the catastrophe that had unfolded around us. More than 100 people died in North Carolina. Entire mountain communities were wiped out. Asheville’s residents still don’t have running water, two weeks after the storm. One friend of mine had a tree fall through her roof into her living room—ten minutes after her 3-year-old had moved from that spot. Another friend watched a lake of water rise up and destroy both her family’s cars. Latino residents of a nearby mobile home community were not warned of the storm, and their homes were completely destroyed.
Now I spend hours a day scrolling through donation lists—people need bread, peanut butter, diapers, formula, new homes and money to pay for it all. I’ve donated diapers and baby clothes, which is something but feels like nothing. What can I do that would actually help? Why am I lucky enough to decide?
I hope to spend this weekend packing meals or sorting donations and attending fundraisers. I hope to start reporting on the long and grinding recovery efforts, especially because I fear the rest of the country is distracted and might forget the tiny mountain communities that are suffering the most. I hope to be of use, and put my gratitude to work.
I can totally relate to scrolling through lists of needs, and never feeling like you can give enough. I'm in Denver, and the last few years have brought a wave of migrants from Venezuela and other South American countries, in addition to the Central American stream that was already trickling through. I went to the shelters with medicine, food, books and clothes, and my completely full car would be empty within a minute. A literal minute. One mother grabbed my child's winter coat, and when I stopped her, pointing out that my own child was in him carseat, she pointed out her own child, in flip-flops and a tank top, on a chilly October night. Yup, you win, I'll get a different one, and while we're at it, want his shoes, pants, sweatshirt? What about my coat? We ended up taking a family in for about 10 months, and that finally felt like it was making an actual difference.
Everywhere you look, there's someone who needs something, desperately. The divide between the "haves" and "have nots" just keeps growing, and the emergencies are coming more often. The more we can remember our own humanity, and that we are in this together, the better. Thank you for helping, and for keeping us aware of what's going on in your area.
Feeling all of this as well. Thanks for putting words to the feelings. If we can ever work it out let’s volunteer together! 💜