Yesterday marked a month since Hurricane Helene swept through the Upstate wreaking havoc in our community. As I was cleaning out my email on Friday, I found the email that informed parents and teachers that we were returning to normal schedule. As I reread that email, my mind protested. We might be going back to a normal school schedule, but nothing is normal.
On our way to the grocery store, my eyes took in the massive branches and trees that were still piled high on the narrow street. One power line looked more like a jump rope on a playground than a lifeline of warmth to a neighborhood. On the next street, the stoplights are blinking again. The power pole is leaning perilously into the street after a truck ran off the road into the pole. Was the driver distracted or has the last month finally caught up to us?
Just two weeks ago, we knew how to work the four-way-stops that used to be stoplights, but the stoplights being out or blinking again has all of the drivers confused. Whose turn was it? Who goes next?
As we return home from the store, the wind starts to whistle and the rain starts to fall. It’s the first rain after the Hurricane. I find myself look more closely at the trees swaying in the wind. How strong are the gusts expected to be in this storm? Will the roots hold again? I ask these with newfound respect for the mighty power of the trees that surround me.
In the midst of the week after the Hurricane, we all longed for “normal.” We wanted to get up and take our kids to school and go back to work. Now that we’ve felt the push and pull of those routine, I wonder if we’ve even given ourselves time to process what we experienced, no what we survived.
It’s been a month. Maybe we have returned to normal, but we nothing is normal. We will walk on with new eyes and new respect for just how quickly normal can be changed.