A year ago

I have been mulling over some way to commemorate that Wilma all week long. I have spent some time reading things that I wrote in my blog, things I wrote when I didn't have access to my blog, and things that I wrote when I didn't have access to my computer. I have also been reading the emails that arrived just before and then after the storm. I have watched my Wilma video, and I have watched the Wilma video on YouTube that Elizabeth showed me but I am not using because she is linking it to her blog (she found it). I have felt some emotions that while not the same as last year are nevertheless related to those.

But it's hard to feel the same, since everything for me is so different since last year. I am back to the mind-numbing stress of my pre-Cancun job, I am back to living a life with a car, and money, and higher end cable TV all in my language, and no language barriers. I can get tuna in spring water (but Lord knows I don't!) in any supermarket I go to, and I always flush the paper in the toilet.

It is hard to describe the sense of suspension, the feeling of not knowing what to expect, unless you were there feeling it. Things like going to sleep in the middle of the day because there was nothing else to do, nothing was stopping the water from coming in anyway. Like wanting to just LEAVE the apartment but knowing you couldn't because the winds were still howling like a freight train and breaking windows all around you. Like not knowing whether or not you would have an apartment when this finally ended, let alone a job. Like feeling so disconnected from everything - we had heard things like the Hyatt Caribe had crashed to the ground, as had the Ritz Carlton and Plaza Kukulkan (they hadn't - the rumor mill was out of control).

I remember, too, that the tourist friends from NY, the 2 couples staying with the Ceruttis instead of a shelter, looked to me for answers. Like Saturday, when the winds were starting to die down a little (and we knew this only because it wasn't quite as LOUD), they asked me if it was over. I had been sitting in the same room with them, bailing the same rain water, since Friday, so how again would I know? But I told them simply, we haven't had an eye yet, so it isn't over. I remember thinking how once that eye caught us that Joe would be eager to go outside, and I remembered reading that you should never do that, because the other side of the storm would come out of no where and then where would you be? But the difference was that the eye had finally arrived after at least 24 hours of storm (by my guess, I am no statistician and am going from what I can recall) so the eye would probably hang a little bit. Besides, I needed a cigarette and I knew the neighbor would loan me one.

I remember eating some food, and I remember trying to dry the sodden towels and rugs over the railing like everyone else. I remember someone squeegeeing off the landing above me and getting nailed with storm water while I leaned over the railing just at that same time. I remember running sodas and scrambled eggs with toast and maybe some bacon down to the guards who were staying in the little closet down in the parking garage, away from their families, and how happy they were to see us and get something to eat and drink. I remember connecting with people other than the 6 that were with me in that apartment, knowing it would be brief, and knowing that the next phase of the storm might be the one that finally broke some windows in our apartment, since the wind would be coming from a different direction. I remember thinking, Good God, why do we have to go through all this AGAIN? I remember knowing I couldn't see how Liz or Laura were doing, or the boys, or Martha, or Kim or Kelly or anyone else I knew besides Janet and Joe. I remember a complete lack of animation and enthusiasm because it wasn't over yet.

And I remember it starting up again, and just being sick of it, and doing pretty much the same thing as the day before. I remember all of us sleeping in the living room, Tourist George sleeping in a chair and then quietly getting up in the middle of the night to bail water from the master bedroom with one of those red plastic cups we used to buy for keg parties, trying not to wake anyone, and though I was a little bit awake, pretending I wasn't because I felt useless in the midst of all their industriousness. I remember just wanting to not hear the wind anymore.

Then I remember Sunday morning, and it dying down again, and the tourists again asking me if it was over, and me shrugging. I remember that it WAS over, and that all I could think of now was getting back to my apartment.

I remember then the whole group piling into the van and driving over to SM 31, and having to take the long way, the really long way, up past Kabah, past one ruined building after another, through flooded streets with people walking around in water up to their waists, downed power lines (CFE had turned off the power Thursday late I think, so they were dead, no danger of electrocution), and finally reaching my neighborhood about an hour later (it used to be a 7 min drive). I remember fearfully walking to my apartment and being thankful that no windows that I could see were broken. I remember seeing Ernesto, and Marina, and their worry for me. And Laura and her exhaustion, and the worst damage being water and a defrosted refrigerator. I remember thinking that I didn't know what was next, but it was certainly less bleak than it was yesterday. I remember wanting to cry for the next 5 days but not being able to.

I wrote some notes in a journal my sister Barbie had given me as a going away present, and just now reading those for the first time in a year, I laughed at the inscription she wrote on the inside cover - "To Joycie - Here's to an Excellent Adventure! Love, Barbie". Mission accomplished.

I have said it before so I won't go too deeply into detail - to witness the dedication to home and family, the industriousness, the never-say-die attitude of the people of Cancun is something that I will cherish forever. I was enjoying my sabbatical just fine up until then, but something about Wilma changed me, and the respect I have for the people who live there is as indescribable as the feelings that I have had in the last few days. The speed with which they recovered the city is nothing short of miraculous, a lesson to be learned, an example the United States doesn't want us to see. I think there is nothing that we can't do, if we really want it. For some, it takes determination and will; for others, it is just second nature.

It was definitely a weekend to remember, and the weeks after that, watching TV news with Laura, that tuna casserole she cooked, the first shower over at Liz's, I won't forget them. And even though nobody understands it unless they were there, and nobody wants to hear about it anymore, I will always carry it with me, because it is an inspiration, it is hope, and what are we without inspiration and hope?

Wilma happened in October 2005, if you are so inclined, feel free to check the archives of this blog for additional reading.