Survivor’s Guilt

When my cell phone buzzed, I was standing in front of the cashier at Starbuck’s ordering a tall, black coffee. 

I glanced at the screen and then offered the clerk a look that was equal parts apology, dread, and panic. Holding up a finger, I muttered something like, “Excuse me. My daughter… the hurricane…”

Into the phone, I asked, “Where are you?”

A resident of Sarasota, my oldest daughter and her family evacuated two days before the eye of Hurricane Ian made landfall 125 miles south of its original target: Tampa. Once the wind and rains subsided, she and her family braved the flooded and debris laden roads to check on my home at Bird Key.

I barraged my daughter with questions. “You checked all the doors and windows? What about the garage?”

Tears clung to my lower lashes as I fished a ten-dollar bill out of my wallet. The clerk took my money but held it in her palm, waiting, as if she too needed the answers to the questions I posed. Closing my eyes, I digested the damage report: the storm shutters had held; the clay tile roof was intact; the pool and yard were smothered in debris; and, the generator was on. My house had never lost power. Since electricity had not been restored to my daughter’s mainland home, her family asked to camp out at my place.

“Of course!” I said.

A sigh lifted my chest, calming the rapid-fire hammering of my heart. My family was safe. They had survived one of the most catastrophic storms to hit Florida. And my coastal home had escaped the worst of Ian’s fury. 

“I’m so sorry to hold you up,” I said to the Starbuck’s cashier as she handed over my change.

A smile brightened her face. “No worries. Glad everything turned out okay for you.”

In the days that followed, I connected with neighbors and friends in Florida about their safety and property conditions. Some suffered roof or window leaks. Many lost the cage screening around their pools. One had a seawall fail. Everyone experienced significant landscape damage. But all in all, the destruction in our area was negligible compared to what the weather forecasts had told us to expect. 

As the week went on, I continued to be glued to the TV. The news images of devastating damage in the communities south of Sarasota were hard to watch. The common refrain among everyone I conversed with was: We got lucky, but why did it have to come at the expense of others, some of whom we know and care about? We felt blessed to have been spared but no one was doing a happy dance. Our survivor’s guilt was genuine. And with that emerged a new refrain: What could we do to help those who needed it most?

When I returned to Florida to survey and rectify the damage to my property, I received an urgent message from a friend. It was a call to action. A collection area at our local Publix parking lot had been set-up to help families in the battered North Port community, which is part of Sarasota County. Basic household items, bottled water, non-perishable foods, and clothing for all ages were desperately needed. Many North Port residents had lost everything; they escaped the hurricane with just the clothes on their backs.

The call to action, particularly the clothing drive, resonated with me. It was like an alarm went off. No more stalling. I’d waited eight months to sort through my late husband’s closet. There was no better time than now to tackle the onerous task. I flipped on the country music station and earmarked stacks of clean shirts, shorts, pants, and shoes for donation. Something remarkable transpired. The crushing sadness that I had expected to feel over purging my husband’s things didn’t materialize. With each bag I filled and stowed in my car, instead of despair, I felt comfort. People who had experienced catastrophe were about to benefit from my own personal loss and misfortune. It was oddly empowering and vindicating.

Once I dropped the donations off at the collection site, weariness set in. The adrenaline that had fueled my task evaporated. But as I approached St. Armand’s, Starbucks came into view, albeit a different outlet than the one where I fielded the “all clear” from my daughter. I smiled to myself. A tall black coffee would be the perfect pick me up for my sagging mood. A full circle moment: from relief to survivor’s guilt to relief once more.

Cheers.

If you would like to help the victims of Hurricane Ian in Florida, the Red Cross is accepting donations here.

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