Awesome Disabled

(6 minute read. CW: natural disaster)

As I type this, there are two notebooks sitting on the table, pages opened, being blown dry by a table fan. Our kitchen is covered in soaking wet pages with my children’s drawings on them. I’ve got one load of laundry on and another soaking-wet basket of laundry to go. Last night, we got back from our camping trip, and, as you could imagine, it did not go the way we had planned.

Although we are not new to camping mishaps, we were hoping to have a great experience this time. And we did– for the first 36 hours. I even had a good sleep on our brand-new air mattress. (I know I had a good sleep because I remember having some bonkers dreams.) I was thinking, things are looking up. Everything’s coming up Amy, baby!

Then we went for ice cream.

We had seen a minor rainstorm brewing, so we thought we would go get our ice cream cones and hunker down in the tent, waiting out the storm.

Little did we know.

The wind kicked up as we walked the half-mile distance to the ice cream shop. Rain started pelting down at us. By the time we were at the store, the rain was nearly flying sideways. As we got our cones and prepared to leave, the rain increased in velocity. Sand and rain blew in every direction. Then the hail started, smacking everything. Massive wind gusts threw debris all around. Foliage displays were decimated before our eyes, and the wind and hail overturned a hanging basket of flowers. The strong winds were pulling the doors open, so we had to lock the deadbolt before the wind and rain destroyed everything inside the store. We had nothing to do but watch and wait.

As a parent, this is the most helpless feeling: watching mother nature wreak havoc and not being able to do anything to stop it. I remembered we left our tent windows open, and I wondered how much of our stuff would remain as we left it. I had a sinking feeling that there might not be much left of our campsite. But until I knew better, I put my poker face on in front of my kids. The first rule of comedy, and of parenting, is never let them see you sweat. So we wandered around the store looking at chotchkies and keeping it light.

After about 30 minutes it had settled down a bit, and one of the store employees wanted to check her RV’s awning, and she offered to give us a ride to our campsite. When we arrived, we saw something beyond anything we had expected. Our campsite was completely demolished– there was debris everywhere.

Even more unsettling was the dozen or so people standing around, looking around like the survivors in a movie about a nuclear apocalypse. I had no time to process, because the survivors descended on us, all wanting to help. I could see that my tent pegs were mangled across the fence between our campsite and our neighbor’s, so I checked to make sure that our debris hadn’t damaged their site. It seemed that the only damage was on my side, so we began the work of cleaning up.

I directed the neighbors with what to pack up and what to throw out, while I supported my kids’ emotional wellbeing. My 10-year-old, Cleo, took one look at our decimated campsite and smashed trees all around, and turned to me in tears. “I’ve never seen anything like this, Mom,” she sobbed as I wrapped her in a big Mama Bear hug.

My kids quickly rallied their composure, and began sifting through the debris for their treasured possessions. We had a panic when we thought Cleo’s doll was missing, and I let all the volunteers know to look for a baby doll. Luckily, Dolly was found quickly, and we continued the work of packing up.

In the midst of the chaos, I thought of a Tanya Tucker song called Strong Enough to Bend. In it, she describes a tree that’s never been knocked over, because it bends with the wind. My tent did a spectacularly bad job of bending with the wind, which is why we were finding pieces of tent pole jammed into the fence.

My kids and I, however, were able to roll with the punches of the evening. There were tears at losing our beloved beast of a tent, and at the general destruction all around us. That’s totally normal, and a healthy response to seeing obliteration. As we drove away, Cleo commented, “I’m glad we could count on our neighbors’ help. I’m glad we live in a place where people help each other.” This type of circumspect thinking is impressive that soon after a fairly major event. We went on to have a thoughtful discussion about the worldview of believing that strangers are helpful, and how it hinders our ability to function in the world when we don’t believe in the kindness of strangers.

Our drive went smoothly; the tears stopped about 10 minutes in. The kids called their dad to help talk them down while I focused on navigating and settling my own emotions. Then Lis, my 13-year-old, chose some music to blast, and we grooved and laughed. We got home and had a good night’s sleep. Next day, I took one soaking bag out of the car at a time and dealt with it. I ran loads of laundry, dishes, and garbage. Lis’s drawings were damaged by the storm, so I covered all my kitchen counters with Lis’s individual drawings for drying, and the aforementioned drawing books propped up on the table.

Despite the bumps and bruises, we learned a lot about ourselves and each other. We learned that we can count on our neighbors’ help, and the kids know that they can trust the grownups in their life to take care of them. We learned we can handle when things don’t go as expected– sometimes storms come and knock your shit down. That doesn’t define you, because you can rebuild. Your strength is not in avoiding getting knocked down, but in your ability to get back up. Your strength is in your ability to bend.

PS: Cleo just found out I have this blog. She says hi.