Shelter from the Storm

 Week Eighteen: Shelter from the Storm

Now there’s a wall between us, something there’s been lost

I took too much for granted, I got my signals crossed

Just to think that it all began on an uneventful morn

“Come in,” she said, “I’ll give you shelter from the storm.”

--Bob Dylan, Shelter from the Storm, from Blood on the Tracks

Years ago, at the home of my wife’s parents in the mountains of western North Carolina, two hundred miles from where we lived in Wilmington, I monitored with concern the progress of Hurricane Florence as it approached the east coast of the United States. Great concern. Landfall was expected in two days.

Descriptors such as monster, the worst in history, and storm of a lifetime had convinced us to evacuate, and had me believing that we should expect catastrophic results. My anxiety was the most recent in a series of stressors that began more than 13 months before. Apparently the best was saved for last.

Back then we lived in Wake Forest, and after a couple of significant upgrades we figured there would be no better time to sell our house, which we did. Welcome  stress. That process took six months, and if I’m being honest with myself, I admit that I contributed to the stress. I reacted strongly to things that did not please me, and I was not shy about confronting my offenders. Of course I didn’t realize that much of what I was doing was making matters worse, and because I continue to do similar things, I know for sure that back then, as now, I made it worse.

In November of 2017 with the house under contract, we moved to Wilmington. Before agreeing to purchase anything along the coast we began an extensive search that took us from Southport to Holly Ridge. We took Stress with us. In fact I think I entered an intimate relationship with Stress, which increased exponentially once we entered a binding contract with Del Webb Riverlights. 

From then on, Stress and I became partners of sorts. We barely left each other’s side. We began a physical relationship as soon as Deb and I applied for a mortgage with Pulte. In most loving relationships one of the partners doesn’t cause the other to lose sleep. In ours one does.

As we got closer and closer to the settlement date certain details began to consume my thinking, not the least of which was exactly when we would know how much money to bring to the settlement table. When I asked the question I was told something like “a few days before.” I wondered if “a few days before” settlement would allow us enough time to arrange for the transfer of funds, especially because it was a large amount of money. On the first weekend of September I was referred to the law office that would be handling the closing. I asked a person on the phone to tell me  the amount of money we would need at closing. She told me that her office would give me a definitive answer “three days before closing.” I reminded her that closing was on a Monday and if we were told three days prior we would not be able to transfer money over the weekend.

Shortly after the call, Stress began talking for me. Eventually the person on the other end grew exasperated with me and Stress and put us on hold. A man took over and after I told him the questions and concerns that Stress and I had, he suggested that I put a large sum of money where it could be accessed. Although his recommendation solved one problem, my boorish behavior had created another. (In two subsequent phone calls, the woman in the first call refused to deal with me. As it turned out, the lender gave us an exact dollar figure one week in advance, which was plenty of time to transfer money.)

As of 7 September, with the house ready, the loan secured, and the closing money in place, it appeared as though Stress and I could part ways with no hard feelings. But no.  As is often the case, one of the partners was just not ready. That’s when I learned that Hurricane Florence was gathering strength somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean. Day after day I watched reports detailing the potential path Florence might take. By 10 September it was clear that staying squarely in the path of the hurricane was potentially suicidal. We left. Unfortunately our new house was not so mobile.

Hurricane Florence was devastating. Fifty-four people died, fifteen in North Carolina. The storm caused over twenty-four billion dollars in damage. We literally couldn’t get to our apartment for a week after the storm passed. The roads were so flooded, and the water receded too slowly. A friend from the neighborhood where our new house was, contacted me to say there appeared to be some siding ripped from the house. As it turned out, the house suffered no damage. Zero.

I had shelter from the storm a couple of hundred miles away. Not so much with the one in my head. I was gripped with the anxiety of not knowing--not knowing if our new house would still be where we left it or how damaged it would be, not knowing if the possessions left behind in a rented garage would be worth owning, not knowing who would die as a result of their refusal to leave. And not knowing when or even if I would ever corral my incorrigible behavior.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-gsDBuHwqbM