Hurricane Sandy Story - Morgan Gass

           It is October 27, 2012. “New Jersey is in a state of emergency. All the Barrier Islands are under a mandatory evacuation by 4 p.m. Sunday” explains Governor Chris Christie. Hurricane Sandy was on her way and headed straight for me. Being all alone, as a sixty-seven year old woman, in a house right in the heart of Atlantic City I knew I had to listen. My son, Billy, was already on his way to come pick me up and bring me back to his house in Philadelphia. I start to prepare my house as best as I can. I lock all the windows and turn off the electricity as well as the water. I then anxiously wait for Billy to arrive.

            I think of the worst to come on one of the longest drives of my life. Having to leave my home so sudden and unexpectedly causes great emotion to me. No one understands my attachment to that house. It is the only place I call home. Not knowing what condition it maybe in when Sandy finally passes, brings a tear to my eye. Billy comforts me saying “Don’t worry mom, it will all be okay. There have been many storms before and that house is still standing. Everything will be fine.” The whole ride back Billy and I reminisce on the memories made in that house and the ones still to come. I couldn’t wait till next July when all my children and grandchildren come down for their annual trip. “Oh the memories Billy!” I exclaim.

            Today is October 29. We turn on the news. The broadcaster talks of Sandy hitting landfall in New Jersey, especially the shore points. We watch tentatively as they show the storm in progress. Winds are up to 80 mph, the city is mostly underwater, and pieces of the boardwalk are floating around. It is a disaster. I think to myself “What do I do?”

            Billy and I drive back to where it all began two days after. It is Halloween. This particular Halloween no one is out enjoying the festivities of horror.  As we cross over the bridge to Atlantic City, I immediately notice the devastation. The water still invades the streets. I look around to find debris surrounding the vehicle on all sides. Everything is destroyed. There is not one house not damaged by this storm.  We make our way down the street towards my block. I turn to my dear son who desperately shares a look of despair. We say nothing to one another. We turn the corner, heading down my street. Billy and I look side to side in disbelief. The houses are gone. My neighbors’ homes demolished. We finally arrive to “my home”. My home which was once a house full of memories is now a pile of wreckage.

            I think to myself, “This is it. My home of sixty-seven years is gone. The memories are gone. Everything is gone.” The land where a house once stood is now a pile of old memories. There is nothing more I can do. I have no money to reconfigure the home I once had. Even if I did, it wouldn’t be the same original structure that was passed down generations to generations. It wouldn’t be the same home that I grew up in as well as my children. It wouldn’t hold the same memories. It simply wouldn’t be the same. In the matter of days a beautiful shore point turned into a city of destruction.