Bristol, VA (1130 miles from Seabrook)
Those of you who do not live in Hurricane country cannot POSSIBLY understand the abject terror I’m feeling right now. This was supposed to be a vacation, a time to relax and have fun. Instead, I am far away from home and not at all certain I will even have a home to return to. This is no academic exercise. This is real. Right now, as I am writing this, Hurricane Rita is projected to hit the Texas Gulf coast about 100 miles SW of Seabrook. In the best possible scenario, Seabrook will get a ton of rain and tropical storm winds, and Rita will visit a relatively unpopulated section of the Texas Gulf Coast. We’ve dealt with tropical storms before, and while some trees will be blown down, our house will most likely survive largely intact.
The worst case scenario is truly terrifying. If Rita makes landfall as a Category 4 or 5 hurricane in the currently projected location, Seabrook (as well as Galveston and the Greater Houston area) will be on the northeast, or “dirty” side of the storm, the area of greatest devastation. Think Biloxi and Gulfport, MS, and you’ll have an idea of what I fear may be a distressingly, terrifyingly real possibility.
As of 6pm CST today, Seabrook is under a mandatory evacuation order. Rita has become what I heard one meteorologist describe as “an unbelievably powerful storm”. As of 7pm CST, Rita is the #3 most powerful storm since whoever keeps track of these things started keeping track of these things. She’s big, she’s powerful, and she’s going to rip stuff up.
I left yesterday on my three-day road trip to Williamsburg wondering what might happen. By the time I picked up I-30 at Hope, AR, Susan called me with the bad news. So there I was, several hundred miles away, unable to do anything but worry. When I checked into my hotel in Memphis, the first thing I did was turn on CNN, and I’ve been glued to whatever news I can get ever since.
Susan is still in Seabrook, and that is part of why I’m so scared. With each phone call from her, she has understandably become progressively more distraught, almost to the point of being inconsolable. Right now, I’m 1100+ miles away, and there is nothing I can do to help her. Because of the mandatory evacuation, she will be going to Hobby Airport tonight, and she’ll be spending the night in the airport. Tomorrow morning, she’ll catch a flight to Richmond, where, if all goes according to plan, I’ll be picking her up. We’ll try to enjoy our weekend in Williamsburg before we leave for Carbondale, IL. Not knowing what we’ll be returning to will not exactly make for a restful weekend.
Our little slice of Paradise is less than a half-mile from the Gulf of Mexico. It’s an older house, built before hurricane codes were anything more than a good idea that no one took seriously. It’s little more than a brick facade over a wood frame on a concrete pad- nothing fancy, nothing state of the art, but it’s our home, and I love it. I literally do not know what we will do if it doesn’t survive Rita.
I cannot remember a time in my life when I have been this scared, and I was in Croatia during the war there. I’ve dealt with snipers and minefields, but they were mere distractions compared to what we are facing now.
The stories that Susan has been telling me have been frightening. The trip up I-45 from NASA Parkway in Webster to downtown Houston, a 25-mile trip, has been taking close to three hours for those using I-45 as their designated evacuation route. There is not a piece of plywood to be had- anywhere. The sense of panic is palpable…and more than anything else, I wish I could be there. It’s not that I would want to ride out the storm, but Susan has been dealing with the madness all by herself. I feel guilty for not being there, though intellectually, I know that I’m better off being where I am, and by this time tomorrow, Susan will be out of there as well. Maybe it’s just the male need to protect his brood, but I know that I’m not going to feel comfortable until I see Susan at the Richmond airport tomorrow.
I don’t know what we’ll be returning to. One of our neighbors may be staying put, so there is at least a decent possibility we may be able to get a status update once the storm passes. All I know right now is that I am as scared as I have ever been, and I’m too far away to be able to help the woman I love more than anything else in the world. Helpless? Now there’s an understatement….
I’m not a Christian, but I know that many of you are. I’m not normally one to ask for divine intervention, but at this point we need all the help we can get. When y’all hit your knees before you go to sleep tonight, please send a few up for us. We’re going to need it.
our prayers are with you and susan, Jack...
My prayers are with you too. You will feel loads better once Susan is with you in Virginia. Remember, once she's there, you have what's important right next to you.
Let's all hope for the best. Our thoughts and prayers are with you.
Prayers ascending for you and your family, Jack. For your safety, well-being and peace of mind.
Hi Jack,
I'm not a Christian either. I'm a pagan up in San Antonio watching the evacuees come in and hoping they aren't coming to seek shelter in the world's biggest bathtub (remember 1998 and 2002?).
Still, if pagan prayers are any good to you, then you and yours and the rest of the coast folks have some of them, too.
Regards, Cernig @ Newshog
I will hold you in the Light.