Some things can’t be replaced…

As hurricane coverage moved into what seemed like the 5th straight day, I thought I would take advantage of the alternative channel offered by WTVD to show their regular programming.  Good Morning America, as they should have, opened with coverage of the hurricane and it was surreal watching some of the same reporters that I have watched cover other disasters report on one so close to home.  As they cut from reporter to reporter showing different scenes from the state I love so dearly, I was most struck by an older gentleman and his wife from the Jacksonville area. He had originally indicated that they weren’t going to leave their home because they had no place to go but as the waters rose nature forced their hand.  Later, after he crawled down from a high-wheeled military vehicle, he waved his hands in front of his chest and said, “This is all that I have.” I’m a cryer so as I sat in my cool, dry house, sipping freshly brewed coffee and watching the devastation on my big screen you know that a tear trickled down my cheek.

The storms of life (figurative and literal) don’t really make or break us but instead give us a glimpse into who we truly are.  Heroes are most often defined by the best moments of their lives and villains are generally infamous for their worst. What I have seen over the past several days from folks is a deep and abiding sense of community.  Countless offers of places to stay, hot showers, food, generators, and most importantly prayers have poured in with greater abundance even than the rain produced by Florence. As we collectively hold our breath and watch rising creeks and rivers, I know beyond a shadow of doubt that we will be there for each other in times of crisis and the in between times. It is simply how we are made.

The elderly gentleman from the news story told the reporter plainly, “some things can’t be replaced.”  After countless scenes of storm damage and flooded towns, I made the mistake of thinking that he was speaking of physical things and it broke my heart.  The phrase “lost everything” echoed in my mind and I wondered how long it would take for hundreds of thousands of my neighbors to return to some semblance of a normal life.  As he walked away from the reporter, however, he took his wife’s hand and together they walked into the shelter. I said out loud into my empty, silent house, “that guy has everything.”  When I hug my family later today I will too.