Stage One
I spent Saturday lending a hand in New York. They say there are five stages to grief.
Fifteen of us helped a family gut their beautiful home. As we drove to the neighborhood, there were cars that were sitting in the middle of lawns - swept there from the waves. The water had flooded up to 5 feet inside the house. The floor was warped. Everything smelled of mold and ocean and sewage and oil. There was sand and dirt everywhere. The dad of the family had a couple contracted workers there helping him, so they scored the drywall, and we started taking it down and out to the curb. Garbage bags full of wet moldy insulation. The house was old; it seemed like it had been remodeled a couple of times so when it came time to pull up the hardwood floor - there were two layers we had to pull up. In pulling down the walls, another woman I was working with pointed out that there were a bunch of shells that were in the house. Not broken shells - fully intact beautiful sea shells that you never can find even when you are looking for them on the seashore shells - swept in from the hurricane. There was so much destruction and so much loss.The family didn't know we were coming, the missionaries had found them doing it themselves and asked if they wanted help. The wife came home at some point, and just started crying out of shock and gratitude of us helping. In three hours we were able to do what would have taken them days.
We ate our lunches on the curb down the street. The neighborhood had had help doing a lot of the heavy and hard work the week before, so there wasn't as much need as we expected in that neighborhood, so our group split up as we waited for our leader to tell us where to go next. As we sat eating, the American Red Cross van came yelling on the speakerphone "we have hot meals and hot drinks" and then "looks like the mormons are fed, but we have hot dogs." We smiled and waved them on. Other people drove by and rolled down their windows and said thank you. So much sincerity and love despite so much loss in that neighborhood.
As we finished our lunches, we were still waiting. I was growing restless and there were some people who looked like they were doing stuff, so there seemed no harm in asking if they needed a hand. Al was gutting his kitchen and trying to figure out what could be saved and what could not. He had his best friend Bob and another friend helping out. It has been recommended that everything that touched the mucky dirty hurricane sandy water should be thrown away. Al was still trying to keep stuff. He told mini-stories and emptily chuckled as he assigned tasks. All of his tales were told in a thick New York accent. His timed stories coupled with his estimated laugh reminded me of car talk. He told us a story of how when the waves started coming up he and his wife and dogs ran up to the room on the second floor and waited it out. They could hear the water in the floor below rushing around.
"300 lb washing machine! Can you believe it? The water was so strong down there it just flipped the whole thing over!!" followed by a laugh. "You are just so determined!" He laughed again. "I just turned 60, I'm not as young as I used to be to be doing this stuff." And also, "That china cabinet didn't get flipped over, isn't that great? I can't open any of the drawers though, they seem warped."
A few of us were trying to pull up linoleum, which came up really easy where it was wet, but we found out that there was two layers of it, and whenever there were staples made it nearly impossible to remove. I kept thinking about all of his belongings, and how nice they were, and how he'd probably have to get rid of all of them. At lunch, we had wondered about how much is covered by insurance, but in those houses, it was so apparent that you can't really put a value on a china cabinet that you saved up for and had for many years, or a table you wanted to save because of all the good memories around it. Al gave me a tupperware to pull things out of the pantry before they moved it to get to more of the floor. After everything was out, Bob gingerly told Al that the pantry was warped and that they'd have to get rid of it. Al surrendered, "I guess if it's warped it's got to go." His eyes teared up a little as he looked me straight in the eyes and with a laugh said "I guess I'm in denial" followed again by a laugh. My chest tightened and as I looked back into his eyes I felt more empathy than usual and in my loudest voice I thought "me too Al. me too," as I whispered "I'm so sorry."
Fifteen of us helped a family gut their beautiful home. As we drove to the neighborhood, there were cars that were sitting in the middle of lawns - swept there from the waves. The water had flooded up to 5 feet inside the house. The floor was warped. Everything smelled of mold and ocean and sewage and oil. There was sand and dirt everywhere. The dad of the family had a couple contracted workers there helping him, so they scored the drywall, and we started taking it down and out to the curb. Garbage bags full of wet moldy insulation. The house was old; it seemed like it had been remodeled a couple of times so when it came time to pull up the hardwood floor - there were two layers we had to pull up. In pulling down the walls, another woman I was working with pointed out that there were a bunch of shells that were in the house. Not broken shells - fully intact beautiful sea shells that you never can find even when you are looking for them on the seashore shells - swept in from the hurricane. There was so much destruction and so much loss.The family didn't know we were coming, the missionaries had found them doing it themselves and asked if they wanted help. The wife came home at some point, and just started crying out of shock and gratitude of us helping. In three hours we were able to do what would have taken them days.
We ate our lunches on the curb down the street. The neighborhood had had help doing a lot of the heavy and hard work the week before, so there wasn't as much need as we expected in that neighborhood, so our group split up as we waited for our leader to tell us where to go next. As we sat eating, the American Red Cross van came yelling on the speakerphone "we have hot meals and hot drinks" and then "looks like the mormons are fed, but we have hot dogs." We smiled and waved them on. Other people drove by and rolled down their windows and said thank you. So much sincerity and love despite so much loss in that neighborhood.
As we finished our lunches, we were still waiting. I was growing restless and there were some people who looked like they were doing stuff, so there seemed no harm in asking if they needed a hand. Al was gutting his kitchen and trying to figure out what could be saved and what could not. He had his best friend Bob and another friend helping out. It has been recommended that everything that touched the mucky dirty hurricane sandy water should be thrown away. Al was still trying to keep stuff. He told mini-stories and emptily chuckled as he assigned tasks. All of his tales were told in a thick New York accent. His timed stories coupled with his estimated laugh reminded me of car talk. He told us a story of how when the waves started coming up he and his wife and dogs ran up to the room on the second floor and waited it out. They could hear the water in the floor below rushing around.
"300 lb washing machine! Can you believe it? The water was so strong down there it just flipped the whole thing over!!" followed by a laugh. "You are just so determined!" He laughed again. "I just turned 60, I'm not as young as I used to be to be doing this stuff." And also, "That china cabinet didn't get flipped over, isn't that great? I can't open any of the drawers though, they seem warped."
A few of us were trying to pull up linoleum, which came up really easy where it was wet, but we found out that there was two layers of it, and whenever there were staples made it nearly impossible to remove. I kept thinking about all of his belongings, and how nice they were, and how he'd probably have to get rid of all of them. At lunch, we had wondered about how much is covered by insurance, but in those houses, it was so apparent that you can't really put a value on a china cabinet that you saved up for and had for many years, or a table you wanted to save because of all the good memories around it. Al gave me a tupperware to pull things out of the pantry before they moved it to get to more of the floor. After everything was out, Bob gingerly told Al that the pantry was warped and that they'd have to get rid of it. Al surrendered, "I guess if it's warped it's got to go." His eyes teared up a little as he looked me straight in the eyes and with a laugh said "I guess I'm in denial" followed again by a laugh. My chest tightened and as I looked back into his eyes I felt more empathy than usual and in my loudest voice I thought "me too Al. me too," as I whispered "I'm so sorry."
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