by Rose Claire
Photo Courtesy of Andrey Shadrin
As some of you know, the beautiful little condo I was renting flooded during Hurricane Helene, and the condo complex sustained even more serious damage during Milton.
While I was blessed not to lose everything, I lost a lot, including things that I treasured. So, I was grieving. Grieving for my losses, the losses in the community and for the past, present and future all at once.
Post Helene, I vacillated between numb and over-feeling, with pangs of grief bubbling to the surface accompanied by a stream of tears cascading down my cheeks. Honestly, I didn’t notice them until the warmth had paved a channel from my eyes to my chin. Nothing made sense.
After all, I am a native of the Tampa Bay area (yes, we do exist), who’d weathered many storms, but nothing like this. Nothing anywhere close to this. Nothing like this level of loss.
On one hand, I was so sad over what I had lost and what others had lost. On the other hand, I felt survivor’s guilt because I hadn’t lost everything. It was like emotional quicksand, and I was sinking deeper and deeper and having no idea where it ended.
And then came Milton.
"It goes without saying that Mother Nature’s one-two punch did severe damage to my community and hurt my heart..."
Mother Nature didn't grant me or the West Coast of Florida time to pause, not even time for a deep breath. I was running on adrenaline again trying to finish clearing out my condo, packing some things, trashing many things, and praying that whatever I kept didn’t show latent damage from the contaminated salt water (e.g., wood legs on a chair, etc.).
I was grateful for the help of some of my closest friends and from others I didn’t know, but who came to help from a networking group I belong to. Somehow, all the work got done, and I evacuated again, wondering what I’d come back to.
It goes without saying that Mother Nature’s one-two punch did severe damage to my community and hurt my heart, but amid all my grief and sadness, I realized that it didn’t knock us out. We were still here. I was still here. And that was something.
I found solace and genuine relief seeing people from all walks of life, with all backgrounds, pulling together. There was no talk of division, something that the rest of the country was wrapped up in because of the election. Sure, a few got frustrated at the lack of gas for a week or so, but overall, the collective experience pulled us together.
But what was next? I had lost my home. Like many folks, work had become secondary to basic survival, and I was exhausted from the stress and grief, desiring to sleep every day in the middle of the day, which just wasn’t me. But I gave myself permission to nap and to care for myself the best way I could. Just resting helped me feel a little better.
"...but amid all my grief and sadness, I realized that (the storms) didn’t knock us out. We were still here. I was still here. And that was something."
My ex was kind enough to let me stay at his extra house, so I had a roof over my head and was comfortable. Work began to pick up a little, so some hints of “normal” were coming back into my world.
But as I transitioned into the beginnings of my “new normal,” big questions loomed: What did all this mean? What was I supposed to learn from this? What was the entire area supposed to learn?
I grappled with these questions, wondering if I had been unwise to live on the water even though I was so happy there and it had never flooded like it did my entire life. And what about the Tampa Bay area? Were there just too many people here that made damage and disaster relief more challenging, as well as traffic. And what about the weather in general? Was this the beginning of regular, raging hurricanes in Tampa Bay?
Was there some spiritual message I was missing?
I whispered, talked, yelled, for God, Goddess, Source, Higher Power, Spirit or the Universe—whatever you want to call the energy—to answer me, but nothing. Radio silence.
Frustration mounted, and I asked anyone who had a spiritual bone in their body for their thoughts. I talked with family, friends and colleagues. No one could give me an answer.
And then, I spoke with my spiritual mentor who gave me this: There is no reason. You’re being challenged to accept and to listen to that little voice inside that shares what God (or whatever you call that energy) has to say.
At first, that advice was hard to digest. It didn't make sense to me. So much had happened, and I had so much anxiety roiling inside me. How could I just accept? There had to be more, something of greater substance than just "accept."
But slowly, as I worked to accept this tragedy, I felt a little better. It was bumpy at first, but the more I focused on acceptance instead of why this happened, the easier each day felt.
I could finally breathe. I could finally think with clarity. And, I could finally move on doing what I believe I was called to do.
In the end, I don't know what all this disaster and devastation means. I haven't found that deep spiritual answer to guide me, but what I have found is calm. The calm that is allowing me to go forward. The calm after the storm. And for that, I count my blessings.
Peace to you all.
Rose Claire offers Psychic, Mediumship and Tarot readings as well as circles, and FaceBook groups. Ask me about her new HIGH reading to boost your happiness and purpose in life. 727-201-3423 or roseclaire170@gmail.com to talk or book a session or a class. You may also click here to contact me for a reading or to register for a class.
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