In the Light of Day
I'm not sure what's worse, the immediate realization that we were just hit by a tornado or what it looked like the next morning in the light of day.
Devastation.
We went back the next morning, not sure what we would find. Our street was closed off so we parked down the road and walked past the huge police presence, paramedics and firefighters. There was the scare of potential broken gas lines so they were checking house by house. The police let us through as we pointed out our house on the corner. They were so kind. They asked if we were OK and told us, "If there's anything you need" and I don't think it had anything to do with our safety. It was more about supporting us from the depths of humanness. At that point, I dreaded going back in not sure what I would find the next day in the light. I was really uncomfortable going upstairs. New cracks had formed in the ceiling in the back where there were none before. I had closed off the front bedroom not knowing if an animal or birds might have come in through the smashed windows.
Things looked worse in the daylight. Glass was everywhere, inside and out. We couldn't get outside in the back through the laundry room. Trees were on top of trees with a piece of the soffits strewn across and metal hanging where there had been a stone path before. We couldn't see the rest of the damage because we couldn't get to that side of the house.
We tried to get out through the patio door to see that side of the house. From the inside we couldn't see a thing. The house was plastered by insulation from many of our neighbours' houses, mixed with pine needles and sticky sap. We had a glass table which we finally found flipped over and under some broken bushes. It survived. One of the chairs didn't. It was broken as it must have been tossed against the house. I had taken the table umbrella out of the base and lay it flat before the storm. Thankfully it hadn't become a projectile and just lay on the ground under broken glass and branches. The beautiful handmade bird bath we had bought over the summer, I had moved to the corner of the patio and thankfully only the red glass apple on top was broken off, probably by some debris.
So many details. We couldn't see that side of the house either because there was so much debris. Then we went back outside in the front on the street and waited. I had called the insurance company as soon as I could and waited for a crew to come and board up the broken windows and tarp the roof where they could, but even they couldn't reach some of the worse damaged areas because there were still trees on the roof.
Each person we met, first made sure we were OK before they did anything else.
The crew that came to tarp, knocked on the door, told us what they were going to attempt to do and did everything they could to bring back a square inch of normal. They swept the glass upstairs, the insulation that had exploded into the house, shook out the bedding which was riddled with glass while others boarded windows, tarped parts of the roof and tried to secure the outside as much as possible. They didn't leave before wishing us luck and telling us they knew we'd be OK.
A woman and her very young daughter drove to the corner in the middle of all this with a thermos of coffee for those in need of their caffeine fix. No one other than the residents and construction crews were allowed in.
Hydro workers worked frantically to get the power restored in 40% of the city. Not an easy task. We watched them truck in huge poles, and check houses to make sure the power was turned off so when it came back on, it would be safe. Firefighters walked around and turned the gas off and then wrote on the garage what was done.
Inspectors came around making sure we knew we couldn't live in the house and needed to vacate. Our temporary insurance adjuster came to take stock of what was what and to make sure we had what we needed until a permanent adjuster could be assigned. I thank my lucky stars that we have Chubb as our insurance company. We had support from minute one when some of our neighbours couldn't get through (even weeks later).
Police were on duty 24 hours a day keeping us safe and making sure the area was secure. They were the first smiling faces we saw. They had a joke for us, checked in constantly and shared a bit of their background with us. We watched them turn rubberneckers around respectfully, trying to protect our privacy. We were a community grieving for what will never be again, a beautiful, tree-filled area.
I had to shade my eyes from the sun. I couldn't understand why it was so strong all of a sudden and then realized it was because there was no longer a canopy of trees shading the house. Neighbours were wandering, consoling other neighbours, hugging, crying in some cases... profoundly sad. This was the day after. The depth of what had happened was sinking in. They say a picture is worth 1000 words. In this case, every image we captured in our minds, had a million words (or so it seemed) because they were wrapped in the "What now? What if? What do I do?" questions.
We had a lawn, a garden, a driveway in there somewhere. The sun had started to go down. It was time to leave while we could still see where we were going. It would be a long drive back to Michael and Amy's as many of the areas still had no power. They too had no power, but we walked into a home filled with candlelight, huge hugs, and our 2 grand cats waiting to be doted upon. And even though much of that area had no power, the kids found a grocery store with a generator and food to buy so we'd have what to eat, a glass of wine to wind down with and lots of love. That's what kept me going.
Devastation.
We went back the next morning, not sure what we would find. Our street was closed off so we parked down the road and walked past the huge police presence, paramedics and firefighters. There was the scare of potential broken gas lines so they were checking house by house. The police let us through as we pointed out our house on the corner. They were so kind. They asked if we were OK and told us, "If there's anything you need" and I don't think it had anything to do with our safety. It was more about supporting us from the depths of humanness. At that point, I dreaded going back in not sure what I would find the next day in the light. I was really uncomfortable going upstairs. New cracks had formed in the ceiling in the back where there were none before. I had closed off the front bedroom not knowing if an animal or birds might have come in through the smashed windows.
Things looked worse in the daylight. Glass was everywhere, inside and out. We couldn't get outside in the back through the laundry room. Trees were on top of trees with a piece of the soffits strewn across and metal hanging where there had been a stone path before. We couldn't see the rest of the damage because we couldn't get to that side of the house.
We tried to get out through the patio door to see that side of the house. From the inside we couldn't see a thing. The house was plastered by insulation from many of our neighbours' houses, mixed with pine needles and sticky sap. We had a glass table which we finally found flipped over and under some broken bushes. It survived. One of the chairs didn't. It was broken as it must have been tossed against the house. I had taken the table umbrella out of the base and lay it flat before the storm. Thankfully it hadn't become a projectile and just lay on the ground under broken glass and branches. The beautiful handmade bird bath we had bought over the summer, I had moved to the corner of the patio and thankfully only the red glass apple on top was broken off, probably by some debris.
So many details. We couldn't see that side of the house either because there was so much debris. Then we went back outside in the front on the street and waited. I had called the insurance company as soon as I could and waited for a crew to come and board up the broken windows and tarp the roof where they could, but even they couldn't reach some of the worse damaged areas because there were still trees on the roof.
Each person we met, first made sure we were OK before they did anything else.
The crew that came to tarp, knocked on the door, told us what they were going to attempt to do and did everything they could to bring back a square inch of normal. They swept the glass upstairs, the insulation that had exploded into the house, shook out the bedding which was riddled with glass while others boarded windows, tarped parts of the roof and tried to secure the outside as much as possible. They didn't leave before wishing us luck and telling us they knew we'd be OK.
A woman and her very young daughter drove to the corner in the middle of all this with a thermos of coffee for those in need of their caffeine fix. No one other than the residents and construction crews were allowed in.
Hydro workers worked frantically to get the power restored in 40% of the city. Not an easy task. We watched them truck in huge poles, and check houses to make sure the power was turned off so when it came back on, it would be safe. Firefighters walked around and turned the gas off and then wrote on the garage what was done.
Police were on duty 24 hours a day keeping us safe and making sure the area was secure. They were the first smiling faces we saw. They had a joke for us, checked in constantly and shared a bit of their background with us. We watched them turn rubberneckers around respectfully, trying to protect our privacy. We were a community grieving for what will never be again, a beautiful, tree-filled area.
I had to shade my eyes from the sun. I couldn't understand why it was so strong all of a sudden and then realized it was because there was no longer a canopy of trees shading the house. Neighbours were wandering, consoling other neighbours, hugging, crying in some cases... profoundly sad. This was the day after. The depth of what had happened was sinking in. They say a picture is worth 1000 words. In this case, every image we captured in our minds, had a million words (or so it seemed) because they were wrapped in the "What now? What if? What do I do?" questions.
We had a lawn, a garden, a driveway in there somewhere. The sun had started to go down. It was time to leave while we could still see where we were going. It would be a long drive back to Michael and Amy's as many of the areas still had no power. They too had no power, but we walked into a home filled with candlelight, huge hugs, and our 2 grand cats waiting to be doted upon. And even though much of that area had no power, the kids found a grocery store with a generator and food to buy so we'd have what to eat, a glass of wine to wind down with and lots of love. That's what kept me going.
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