Charley

Friday, August 13, 4:10pm

“Babe, don’t listen to them. Look at the TV screen, but don’t look at them. Look at the upper left corner. Look at the coordinates!” my husband said anxiously. He stood there, in the center of the living room, but down here in Florida, it’s called the great room. He was mesmerized, his eyes wide with shock, looking as though he was too frightened to move. I’d never seen him look so worried. No not worried! Scared! I never thought my husband to be afraid of anything.

I did what he said. I looked at the upper left of the TV screen.

It was then, I felt as though the pit of my stomach was about to project itself out of my mouth. The word nauseated doesn’t even come close to describe the feeling. It was as though someone gave my stomach a very violent punch knocking all the wind out of me. All at once, I was sure I’d be violently vomiting every ounce of fluid my body could hold. I could feel the color drain out of my face.

“Oh, my God! Honey, we're screwed! It’s coming right at us.” I almost whispered too afraid to say those words loudly, hoping if I didn’t say them too loudly, it wouldn’t happen. Yet, I knew in my heart, it would.

I wasn’t aware of frightened tears rolling down my cheeks. My husband, Rich, however, was and moved next to me. He gave me a quick hug. “Grab the dog. We have only minutes.”

We’d discussed this scenario several times in the five years we lived in Florida. Although terrified, we were prepared. We knew where to go and what to do. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I said, “Let’s go.”

Within seconds, our stupor evaporated, and in its place, a frightened but calm logic took over. Our plan was put into action.

My husband hurriedly yanked his clothes off the plastic hangers and tossed them on the floor of his closet. I grabbed the dog and sat him on the clothes. After making sure the dog was ok, I turned and walked into my closet which was situated directly opposite Rich’s – a complete about face, two step and I was standing where my clothes hung waiting for me.

I took them off the hangers, made another about face, and I was back in my husband’s closet. He’d gone to the linen closet and took everything out that he could carry in one trip. After placing them on the floor with my clothes, he quickly walked to the refrigerator and took out three bottles of water and the dog’s water dish.

As I arranged the clothes and other items now tossed on the closet floor, my husband quickly raced to the great room and shut off the TV. Then with hurried feet, raced to the garage to shut off the power to the house.

Rich carefully arranged the bedding, and towels around the dog and me, saving a bundle for himself. It took less than five minutes for us to prepare what would become our shelter.

Now the short wait began. It didn’t take long. I wasn’t wearing my watch, but the wait felt like hours. In reality, it was probably about three minutes.

There was no thunder! No lightning! (Although being sheltered in the closet, we wouldn’t have seen the lightning, anyway.) The storm brought very little rain! But the wind! OMG, the wind! We didn’t need the rain; the wind picked up the water from the canal blowing it sideways.

Our house, like so many others in Florida, was made of concrete blocks. Our houses are supposed to be sturdy. Most of us have clay tile roofs and several others have metal. Did we feel safe? To this day, I’m not really sure.

Our house shook! It didn’t sway, it shook! It felt like what I would assume a baby’s rattle might feel in the hands of an infant. While I hugged the dog, he still whimpered. I silently cried. I prayed. We heard loud crashes and poundings but had no idea what broke or where! The wind howled and screamed as it passed the house! My husband and I were huddled in a corner of his closet, he with his arms around me while my arms were around the dog.

Then all was quiet. Was it over? We exited the closet and walked to the only door we didn’t board with plywood. It’s a small door with a magnetic doorframe and thick glass. It was in a leeward corner of the house. We looked through the glass not knowing what to expect.

We saw our next-door neighbor’s boat sitting upside down in the canal. Another neighbor’s boat, a 43-foot sailboat was in the canal, lying on its side. Although we secured our boat before the storm, it became apparent that we didn’t secure it properly enough. It was hanging off the boatlift with the stern and motor completely submerged in the canal.

As we began to survey the damage, the wind suddenly picked up again coming from the opposite direction. It only took only a few seconds for the storm to reverse course. Back in the closet, the house shook even more violently than it did only about sixty seconds previously. Yes, our eye was extremely small.

We had sustaining winds of about 150mph and gusts that reached as high as 172mph.

Anyone who knows anything about hurricanes, knows the backside of the storm is worse than the beginning.

My only thought was, “omg, here we go again.” And I prayed. I buried my face in the fur of my dog’s back trying to calm us both and held on as my husband held on to me and pulled the blankets, towels, and extra clothing on top of us, once again.

I can’t even imagine the pain my dog was experiencing as the wind surely put pressure in his ears. I covered them the best I could with my hands, but he continued howl and wail in fear and pain. There was nothing else I could do to help him. All anyone of us could do was to wait out the storm.

Then the wind finally stopped. The house creaked a bit but finally settled. Everything was quiet and still.

We slowly emerged from the closet, peeked out the small door and waited about ten minutes until we felt safe enough to walk out on our lanai to view the damage.

There are no words to describe the destruction we saw. Boats, if not sunken were exhibiting holes and dents from flying debris. Roofs were missing tiles or in some cases, completely ripped off. Items such as heavy planters, hoses, lawn chairs and tables, and anything else the wind could pick up was strewn everywhere up and down the canal and street.

We wandered around our property checking our house for damage but finally decided to venture out and go into town. We drove through various streets and witnessed nothing but the destruction caused by hurricane Charley.

Way too many electrical lines and poles were blown down. Buildings, if not knocked down completely, were damaged beyond repair and recognition. Windows and doors were gone. In several cases, doors and windows of a single building were blown out giving Charley access to the inside, making it easier to blow the furniture on lawns. Gas stations were little else but mangled messes of twisted metal and debris. Churches were left with just the outer shells. Their roofs gone and the insides flooded. A few churches had their inside ripped out.

We saw a number of people begin emerging from their homes, and like us, wandered aimlessly, all too shocked to actually focus on their damaged homes. They just paced, back and forth, back and forth, as if sleepwalking.

No one had electrical power or water; cell phone towers were mostly out of commission. If anyone still had a landline, they didn’t work either. We lived this way for just under four weeks.

My husband and I felt like the lucky ones. We were alive. Our home suffered considerable damage; we lost our boat, our roof, and the screen surrounding our pool, but we were basically unharmed.

Since we loved to go camping when we were younger, living “off grid” didn’t bother us; we knew it would be temporary. However, as I looked at the bewildered faces of others, my heart empathized with them. I’m quite sure many had no idea what to do, how to “rough it”. It wasn’t easy for us, but it was horrific for others.

The Salvation Army, Red Cross, and nearby towns not as damaged as our small town, came with bottled water, bags of ice, and food. Some not-so-local restaurants set up tents and served hot food that they brought with them.

Many like us were lucky enough to live on a canal. We drew buckets of canal water to flush our toilets.

Bathing was a non-issue. The Salvation Army advised us not to use the water they gave us for bathing. “Short supply” they said. If and when possible, if absolutely necessary, they would either find a working facility, or set up temporary bath houses for bathing. We’re so thankful that never had to happen. We took buckets of water from our pool for that.

There was not one house in Punta Gorda that was spared. We all had some degree of damage, some worse than others, but nonetheless, we all sustained something.

Yes, we obviously survived. Our dog ended up living with panic attacks and tremors. Our veterinarian placed him on medication for the rest of his life. He could no longer sleep in his doggie bed. If he didn’t sleep with Rich and me, he cried all night. I can’t imagine what was going through his “doggy” brain, but our little pet was never the same. Loud noises terrified him. Storms had him jumping in our arms where he stayed until the storm quieted.

Did we move? No. This is our home. We repaired and replaced what needed fixing. (Thank God for insurance.) We purchased a generator – just in case there’s ever another power-eating storm. To this day, we stock up on canned goods and other non-perishables which we rotate yearly. What we now have in the pantry will be used throughout the season. At the end of May, we begin hoarding again. And the cycle continues. We fill our freezer and keep its door locked tight. Yes, we now have a lock on the freezer door so if there is a loss of power, the door’s vacuum doesn’t fail. We also keep several large coolers in the garage. We are more prepared than ever before.

Hurricane Charley hit us by surprise. The meteorologists were wrong. First, they said it was going to Tampa which is, according to the exact location could be anywhere from two to three hours north. A few minutes later, they announced it would make landfall in Naples, again, depending on the location, could be two hours or more, south.

None, not one ever mentioned Punta Gorda or the even wider area of Port Charlotte. Our small town is in Charlotte County, southwest Florida. No one thought to check their own coordinates. (I should note here that my husband and I love to fish and spend as much time in the harbor as possible. That’s why we knew about the coordinate readings.)

Thankfully, their Doppler radar has improved through the years and so has their method of reporting. I’ve noticed that they no longer place a storm’s coordinates anywhere on their screens. Hmm! Wonder why!

Our town clock stopped at 4:19pm when Charley gave Punta Gorda a direct hit! Imagine an exceptionally large arrow hitting dead center on a tiny paper target.

So many stores were ruined, doomed never to rebuild.

Our local Town Center Mall was one such place. Many stores are gone forever. The plot of land that once housed a drug store, supermarket, ice cream parlor, dry cleaners, restaurant, etc., is still after all these years, a vacant lot.

A few residents succumbed to broken windows, flying debris, or carbon monoxide poisoning from turning on their generators and leaving them in their garages. While my friend’s husband’s death was never linked directly to the storm, Stu never mentally and emotionally recovered. He walked at an extremely slow pace with his head down. He never spoke again. The happy man we’d known for years was now a shell. He died one year later. Right or wrong, I attribute his death indirectly to hurricane Charley.

Since Charley decimated our small town of Punta Gorda, Florida, we’ve invested in hurricane shutters. We keep a checklist of things to do should an approaching storm be reported. Since things have a way of ever-changing, about three times a year, Rich and I go over an escape plan if we feel the need to evacuate.

Are we over-reacting? I surely don’t think so. We survived a storm that was about to hit a Cat 5 classification. We don’t take hurricanes for granted.

Yet, my husband and I were lucky. Blessed is a better word.

It could have been worse. Much worse.