Sadie and I huddled in our bed, listening to the rain beating against the windows  while the wind howled, hesitating only to inhale so it could blow harder. It was Saturday  night, August 25, 2004. Hurricane “Jeanne” had blown into the Winter Haven area that day. Time had begun to be meaningless and it blurred even more as the hours passed. The driving rain paused occasionally to gather momentum in its search for new ways into our apartment. In the early evening, we had heard the slapping of loose shingles overhead on our retirement apartment’s roof. Our ceilings had begun to show wet spots, which were growing in an alarming way.

Sadie had gathered discarded Sunday newspapers from the trash-laundry rooms and we rolled several sheets at a time into makeshift “sops.” We placed them on the floors beneath the windows, all of which had begun to leak. The rolled papers helped keep the water from spreading farther into the rooms, but only for a few minutes. Then they had to be replaced. It wasn’t long before we realized that our supply of papers wouldn’t outlast the determination of the rain. Rugs were being soaked in spite of our efforts. Furniture sitting on the floor was getting wet.

After we had gone to bed, we talked—mostly about the storm. The eye of Hurricane Jeanne was predicted to hit us sometime after midnight, early Sunday morning. We had retired early, about nine o’clock; we were exhausted physically, but weren’t  sleepy. We would be much more exhausted both physically and emotionally during the next several days, dragging into weeks and even months.

During our forced conversation, I remember saying, “You know, don’t you, that things will never be the same?”

“Yes, I know,” she answered.

That was about the most meaningful conversation we had that night and those words have come back to us more than once.

About midnight, when Sadie had fallen into a restless sleep, I slipped out of bed and got dressed. I knew it wouldn’t be long. We had been told that if the storm worsened, we would all meet in the fourth floor area near the front elevators. We had no idea what would happen after that.

Sometime around 1:30 a.m. a knock on our door told us, “It’s time.”

The next few days and weeks are blurred. We did whatever we were told by the apartment management. What choice did we have? Sometimes we were eager, sometimes protesting; sometimes without thinking—but always in a daze.

As I sit here in my apartment/office, looking around at the new things, new computer, new desk, new printer, new chairs, new TV and several other new pieces of furniture, in a different apartment, I marvel at how circumstances can change so quickly and drastically.

Florida’s 2004 hurricanes began in August with ”Charley” on Friday the 13th and was followed three weeks later by “Frances” on September fourth.

These two storms were the first in nearly 25 years to do serious damage in Polk County. Although we had been warned, we were taken by surprise. Most of us thought that since we had escaped being hit during that long period, we must be under the watchful eye of a guardian angel. This proved to be a false assumption, because our area experienced damage to homes, trees, power lines, signs and almost anything that happened to be in the storms’ paths.  

Many apartments in Spring Haven Retirement Center, where we live, were deluged with water as it came through the roof, to the ceiling, to the floor. It poured in around our windows; it ruined furniture; it spawned mildew; and that was just the beginning.

A few weeks later, Hurricane Ivan avoided hitting us directly, but dumped more water. Our damage was minimal, but there was more to come.

Hurricane Jeanne struck sometime after midnight early Sunday morning, September 26.

Many residents had already gathered around the elevator. Dining room employees brought us a continental breakfast. The coffee and sweets were welcome, but conversation was lacking. We on the fourth floor were told not to leave the area. All were concerned about informing relatives, but we couldn’t get to our apartments to call them. Some residents with cell phones were kind enough to let us make calls.

Others wanted something out of their apartment. One lady kept asking for her doll. Finally an employee went down the hall and brought out the longest doll I have ever seen and gave it to her. She cuddled it as if it were alive. She settled down.

The storm let up slightly as the day wore on. I had no idea of the time. As the eye of the storm came across there was a period of eerie quiet. Sadie and I told one of the security guards that we would like to go back to move some things away from the leaking ceiling.

Shortly, we were allowed to go down the hallway with Tom, the security guard, leading us. We went into my office apartment and with his help moved a few things into the kitchen area which seemed the best and safest place when the eye moved on and the storm resumed. The winds were picking up strength and beginning to howl again.

We had moved only a few things when our protector said that we should be getting out. Suddenly, he shouted, “Run! Run for your life, Charlie!”

The three of us started to run for the door. Sadie led, I was second and Tom right behind. I heard what sounded like an explosion in the bedroom, where Sadie, a few seconds earlier, had been standing in the doorway. The next sound we heard was the shattering and falling of window glass. Just as I got into the hallway,  I fell on bare cement, which was without a carpet after one of the two earlier storms. I wasn’t seriously injured, but the effects of the fall still bother me at times.

We learned later that the roof over that apartment had blown off and that a tornado may have been imbedded in the hurricane. Larger sections of the roof were also torn off and that end of the building was open to the sky for several weeks before the roof was replaced.

About fifteen of us were in the Spring Haven bus, heading for our sister facility the Oaks of Clearwater. Our apartments had been damaged to the point that they were uninhabitable until major repairs were made. We had only time enough to gather bare essentials for a stay at our temporary home. I don’t remember the details, or even arriving at the Oaks.

We were assigned to a small “model” apartment, which sounds great, but was more for show than living.  The residents were very friendly—much more so than if the situation had been reversed, I thought. Or had they been instructed to be nice? Anyway, it was a nice surprise.

Our stay of about four weeks was broken up by trips back to Winter Haven about once a week to pick up needed items, check on our belongings and do other necessities. Time passed rather quickly considering how we were cramped and how few of our personal belonging we had.

At the end of this brief respite in Clearwater, we returned to Spring Haven, were assigned a temporary living apartment and another to replace my office apartment, which we had also used for storage. We hired movers to take our choice of temporary furniture into the new apartment and to move the rest of it across the hall. Within a day or two an apartment across the hall from our home apartment became available, and we had to have the stored items moved again, into that one.

After a fuzzy period, renovation was completed and we moved back into our former home. After a few more weeks, the second apartment was fixed up to the point that we were back into something that resembled our home and office of several weeks earlier.

Both Sadie and I had periods of thinking it would never end, but it all looks so unimportant on paper. When we began to go through our damaged belongings, I couldn’t bring myself to do the task of picking and saving.  If it hadn’t been for Sadie, I would have abandoned it all. We both had “down” periods, but thankfully we didn’t get down at the same time and we helped each other. She saved more of my personal belongings than I did.  I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I didn’t even want to look at the soggy mess.

There were times when we thought we would never see the end of it all. There were times when I didn’t care. I am glad that it is over and that we both are still here.

I don’t look forward to next summer’s hurricane season. 

Things will never be the same.
 
Charles Bybee is a writer and poet. He and his wife Sadie live in Winter Haven, near the point where hurricanes Charley, Frances, Ivan, and Jeanne crossed through Florida in 2004.