Mermaids and hurricanes

Exactly one year ago, my husband and I moved to Daniel Island. Never known for our perfect timing, another story for another day, we arrived just in time for Hurricane Matthew. I had a horrible case of the flu and Matthew and I were duking it out as to whether we would stay or leave. He won. We headed back to Ohio, where most of our family and friends said we belonged in the first place.

Once back and settled in, we became, of course, madly in love with Charleston. Our feelings were contagious and our daughter, son-in-law, two grandchildren and grand cat moved down here as well.

Then—along came Irma. They chose not to argue with her, a choice that most conscientious parents and first-time hurricane experiencers would and did make. They packed up their car, kids, cat and all, and headed back to Ohio. I gently suggested several times that they should wait a few days to see how the storm developed but respected their decision to leave. Fifteen (!) hours later they arrived in Cleveland…and there were no less than at least that number of pleading, phone calls for us to do the same…not to mention the huge influx of calls from our sons, sternly “recommending” that we leave. I may have heard the phrase “stubborn old fools” a few times more than usual.

What to do? We clearly did not want to leave. Our governor did not seem to be in any hurry to make a decision, and as it turned out, rightfully so.

So, what do empty-nesters do in the threat of a hurricane on Daniel Island when an evacuation hasn’t been called for—yet? We hunted for water, toilet paper and batteries like the best of them. We filled our gas tanks. We removed every possible item from our porches and yards as we were continuously reminded that during a storm of this caliber, they become “missiles.” (There were lots of missile jokes going around, but, alas, another story for another day.) We played golf, mahjong and took walks on, ironically, the most glorious days this summer had to offer.

We texted our friends, watched The Weather Channel and made soup. Hurricane parties abounded. And, my close-knit group of new Daniel Island friends and I discussed the mermaid - a gorgeous sculpture that one of these women transported to her yard last year after a truly magical day. There she remains as a symbol and remembrance of a beloved friend, and, as we were about to discover, (spoiler alert) our pre-destined muse.

We worried almost as much about the mermaid, as we did about our own fates, in the frightening wind and torrential rain that developed right on schedule. We knew she was cemented in the ground, but still…

Texting madly, when we weren’t answering phone calls to reassure our frantic children, we discussed our fears, encouraged one another and received reports that the mermaid was stoically braving the storm, as were we. My trusty labradoodle—not so much.

That evening, the winds died down somewhat, although the rain still came down in torrents—sideways—which I have come to realize is what typically happens in Charleston. We decided to sit on the porch and experience nature a little more first hand. Through the rain we saw what appeared to be gleefully, dancing apparitions (our neighbor’s children) out on the golf course, reveling in the deluge and gigantic puddles. Why not? The temperature was perfect, the water warm and, although it would probably not be a once in a lifetime experience for them, it was still very special. Watching them was a blast and I really thought about joining them, which I haven’t ruled out for next time. I know I will get all kinds of lectures about bacteria in the water, etc, but I do have those giant boots that I bought when I moved down here because everyone said I should. (They are impossible to get off!) But being barefoot looked amazing!

The next day although the gorgeous sunshine belied the events of the previous day, the debris and downed trees were a palpable reminder. I couldn’t be more thankful that my family and friends were safe, and aside from small damages, had no serious effects from the storm.

Once I knew the neighborhood streets were passable, I had to steal a peak at my newest friend, the mermaid…to make sure she was still as cemented in the ground as she was bonded in my memories of our perseverance during the storm. There she was, proud and beautiful in all of her glory, her exterior showing a bit more mossy green but then again, how different is that from how our own experiences age us physically?

I also thought to myself of how much our experiences age us emotionally, or, as we like to call it as we get older, make us wiser. It’s kind of ironic that we spent so much of our lives worrying about our children, and once they left the nest, after we grieved for awhile, it became our turn to fly—so to speak. We discovered a whole world of new people and adventures that awaited us, and we trusted that our kids have the skills to make good decisions….reversing roles, as they now struggle to accept our choices.

As I mulled this over, I answered the first of many phone calls as my kids, grandchildren and grand cat made the 15 hour trek back home…another story for another day.

Vicki Bernie is a freelance writer, wife, mother, grandmother, and dog person…loving “Chapter Two” on Daniel Island.