As a writer I get to live
vicariously through my characters. I get swept up in their lives, sometimes cry
for them, worry a bit, and cheer them on. I use the real-life things that have
touched me or stories I hear from people around me. All in all, it makes for
very interesting experiences.
In 2005 I listened to stories that
my husband and some of his fellow DMAT team members told about what they had
seen in the New Orleans area after Hurricane Katrina brought that city down.
They had gone down there as part of a medical response team to try to help. My
husband was there for six weeks. Hearing about the courage and resiliency of
the survivors and their determination to rebuild was amazing.
When I wrote Hostage Heart my
heroine was a young lady from Louisiana whose family was devastated by the “hurricanes”,
even losing a beloved family matriarch to the flooding. I relied heavily on the
stories from my husband and the tales my late grandmother always told me after
living through several Florida hurricanes, and I hoped it gave me a feeling of
authenticity that I could put into my story.
About a year ago in the north
eastern community where I live in the Hudson Valley of New York, I personally
lived through Superstorm Sandy, barely downgraded from a hurricane. What was
most memorable, aside from the fierce winds, driving rain and sixteen foot
waves crashing in from the river, was the fact that I was lucky to be part of
the rescue efforts in my small town.
I was a part of a local volunteer ambulance
corps and we had just moved into a brand new building. The town supervisor was
looking for a place to host a shelter for the many residents who would be
displaced by the rising water or who would need assistance due the high winds
and loss of electricity. We had the room, we had a generator, and we were a
relatively safe distance from the river. Just a few families evacuated before
the full brunt of the storm hit (a little more than a year before Hurricane
Irene hit another part of our county and left my town unscathed, people
expected the same thing).
The town dispatched buses to aid
evacuation as the storm grew stronger and it became more evident we were not
going to escape nature’s wrath again. While other members of my family and
several of my friends responded to the many ambulance calls and aided in
rescues, I was one of those who manned the shelter, greeting evacuees, keeping
records and offering comfort however I could. A few of our corps members were
affected, one losing his home to the river, and others needing heat and
electricity. Residents in the town were generous and gave many much needed
donations of clothing and other goods.
One of the scenes I wrote into my latest
novel, Karma Visited, came directly from the night that Superstorm Sandy
ravished the waterfront communities in the county I live in.
We had stragglers arriving through
the day, but when the first busloads of evacuees arrived I remember looking
down the hallway to see a large mass of shocked faces, dripping clothing,
frightened children and broken spirits moving towards the only salvation they
could find that night – us. We accepted many family pets (preparations were
made to keep them separately from the human evacuees), but I remember seeing
this young girl holding her beloved pussycat. The cats paws were literally
wrapped around his owner’s neck. I don’t know who looked more scared. These are
the two images that remain in my mind. The shelter was open for a week. By then
many of the evacuees were either able to return home or had made arrangements
with family; a few who lost their homes and possessions were put into a longer
term facility where they could live, go to work and school, while trying to
rebuild.
Although I spent the bulk of that
week in the shelter, it was to care for those who managed to find some modicum
of comfort, some who literally watched their homes floating into the river,
others who needed warmth and electricity in a powerless community, and some who
thought they were safe until trees crashed through their roof. My own family
was relatively unscathed – a few trees fell on the property missing the house
and doing minimal damage otherwise. We left our pussycats home after assuring
their safety and arranging visits home to feed them – they managed without
lights and the TV. At the end of the week we came home, cleaned up the debris,
threw out some spoiled milk, and finally allowed everything we had seen and done
to take hold of our emotions.
One year later, I still see areas in
the region that need rebuilding, I hear of families still trying to start over.
Here at home I see a community that has survived. Every day I pray for the
people who still need our help and support fundraising efforts in the
community.
One year has passed, one year… I
feel very blessed to have been a part of the recovery and very, very blessed that
my family seemed buffered through the storm.
