With Hurricane Dorian looming over the coasts of Florida and the Carolinas, and really threatening the Caribbean, I thought it might be a good idea to talk about something that has been the topic of conversation between a loved one and I for some time: my fear of water and the coasts. There’s a reason I’ll likely never buy waterfront property again.
As men, we are taught not to cry. Not when it hurts. Not when you’re feeling alone. Not when it gets too hard. But, in 2012 and 2013, I didn’t care what I had learned about being a man. I cried longer and harder than I ever have in my life. More than when my mother passed or when I got divorced. More than when I found out I was going to need emergency heart surgery because I was experiencing heart failure. More than when I busted my knee during my last play of football I’d ever play. More than on those long nights I’d spend writing my dissertation or those nights I spent alone, praying for God to take my life after my ex-fiance left me, unable to sleep.
No, between the days of Halloween and my wedding anniversary, I was trying to figure out how much of my savings it was going to cost to cover the damage left by Superstorm Sandy to my one bedroom pillar of pride in East Rockaway, NY. That was, if I could afford to repair it…
I purchased my first home when I was 22 years old, just a little over a year out of college. I was working on my MBA, working in Finance, and so excited to be a homeowner at such a young age. Though, I couldn’t wait for my beautiful girlfriend to graduate college, too, and move in, so that I could ask her to be my wife, start our family… and have help with the mortgage. It was daunting! But, it was a small piece of Long Island that I could start my life with. Start our lives with.
Well, she did those things and I did those things. Then, we did those things. And life was good. Life was better than good… it was great. We had two dogs, great jobs, and were very much in love. We had a beautiful wedding, friends over all the time for board game nights and football, and everyone marvelled at how a fool like me kept a woman like her from rolling her eyes at me (the reality is she was kind enough to turn around and look directly at me when she did it). Eventually, I started my PhD program at Hofstra University with the intention of becoming a full-time professor while working as a consultant.
But the college I was working at part-time (after my full time job) wouldn’t hire me. I tried and I tried, but the unspoken word was that I didn’t have enough experience… aka age. So, a fortunate turn of events brought me an opportunity in Westchester, New York. A mentor of mine offered me a very entry-level professorship. And, my then wife agreed that we could move without hesitation.
That was May of 2012. We thought we’d rarely see our little bungalow in East Rockaway since it was rented. Less than half a year later, we were splitting our time between our townhouse near White Plains and our pile of wood on Long Island. The water of Sandy, which reached past my fireplace, destroyed nearly everything: the appliances, the water heater, boiler, walls, flooring, doors, cabinets… all of it.
When I first arrived at the home, it was with my brother to roll up the carpets. It was a few days after the storm had hit. The nauseousness had worn a bit after my father told me that he couldn’t even drive down my block due to the water being so high. My tenant hadn’t been back to the house yet to tell me of the damage. I kept begging God to show me that it was reasonably fixable. But, I knew it was going to be absolutely horrific. I was paralyzed. I took no calls, no texts. Finally, my brother called me and said “Look, you need to just start. Start figuring it out. I’ll go with you.”
And, so he did. We met there to roll up the carpets, with my poor tenant in the background crying. She was yelling at me that someone had to replace her artwork. She eventually asked that I commit insurance fraud, telling the insurance company that it was my primary home and that all of those items were mine so that I could give her money to replace her personal items. I would not, and so began a long and tumultuous relationship until she finally found another place to rent.
I can honestly write a book just on the next year that followed. But, instead, I’m going to have to summarize a few things in the nature of saving your time and also because the offshoots are their own stories I’d like to write. My marriage started to deteriorate and ultimately failed. My family and I had some beef due to some miscommunications and misunderstandings. My personal and professional lives suffered. So, here’s a breakdown of the next 11 months so you that you can understand just a little bit of it:
About 3-5 days a week, whenever I wasn’t at work or in class, my wife and I would travel down to our home to work with my father-in-law who was a very handy man (not a “handy man”) as he was in construction for a living. We eventually got generators at night for light and sweatshirts because there was no heat. On weekends, we worked by daylight. When we were done, we’d travel back home to our place in Westchester. We took a hot shower, went to bed, and tried to laugh. I would stay up past her and cry to myself, wondering if I should just mail my keys back to the bank who held my mortgage.
The first weekend or two of work, my mother offered to bring lunch to anyone who volunteered to help. I put out some announcements on Facebook and friends/acquaintances I’d never thought would help were there. We followed my father’s and father-in-law’s lead. Dad is a plumber but knows a few things about construction, as well. We set up a slop sink and a toilet so that we could have a sanitary station for everyone to use the facilities. My best friend and I went under the house and scooped up sopping wet molded insulation in hazmat suits. Friends brought cleaning supplies, tools, etc. I even wound up in the attic, rewiring the house which was a hazard before the storm.
And that night, it was just a few of us left… on folding chairs in my front lawn, eating by moonlight a few more slices of hero sandwich my mother provided. A neighbor I had barely known came over to me and brought me a tupperware full of hot casserole. I’m crying as I type this because of the cowardice I had shown that evening when she said to me,
“Son, have something hot to eat. We have a generator. You shouldn’t be eating a cold sandwich for dinner.”
I couldn’t say a word. What was I to say? That I was heading home soon to take a hot shower in my Westchester home? Make some microwave popcorn? Watch TV with my wife? So, I took it and I ate it because I didn’t want to refuse it or tell her that I was not staying in the home, that evening. I ate her generosity and I wept, the same as I am, now, because of how kind people can be when these calamities happen.
So, when I went home that night, my wife and I decided to pay it forward. Amidst our neighbors sometimes fighting over bottled water from the Red Cross, the tanks and army trucks we drove past weekly, the piling bills… we started to give back. My wife baked dog treats and I bought pet toys for families who had found stray dogs or who just felt they hadn’t given their pet enough attention after the storm. We asked for addresses and sent them out. I gathered a list of schools in the city and on Long Island which were destroyed and sent boxes of cleaning supplies with a handwritten note.
But, as nice as that felt, it didn’t help my own situation. Months of my mortgage had gone unpaid. Because I wasn’t living in the home at the time, the government saw me as an investor (even though I never profited off of the rent) and didn’t give me any money from FEMA or local agencies to help with my reconstruction. We had to make my flood insurance money stretch to cover everything the insurance agent didn’t see. We couldn’t hire contractors for any of it. We called in favors as best we could and did most of it ourselves.
On weekends, I would eat meals from the Red Cross truck while my wife and father-in-law would eat regular food from the deli. I felt it was my penance. Sometimes, I had to miss weekend and evening work because I had obligations with my PhD. I was supposed to be the provider for my new family and I was depending on everyone else to get me through that year. It was a major blow to my manhood, my confidence, and my life.
After almost a year, we were finally able to get an insurance adjuster out to the home and write us a check that probably covered ½ of what we put into it. We touched every inch of the house and rented it out to a great couple who wanted a cute place near the water. We assured them the home had never seen an inch of water before Sandy and I prayed it would never happen again. But, I cringed every time there was a storm or flood warning on Long Island.
We started to regroup our lives and move on. But, nothing was going to be the same as it was before the storm. Life had changed. We had changed. Our love had changed. I started having nightmares about floods and water that I still have every few weeks to this day. Ultimately, it was one of a few reasons our marriage failed. And, one of the pivotal points of my life.
So, I don’t laugh at weather memes about floods, storms, or blizzards. And, I don’t fantasize about beach front property. I still see property ownership as a financial goal, but being a landlord or homeowner isn’t “easy money.” Nothing is easy in 2019 for our generation. All we can do is open an umbrella, weather the storm, and hope there’s a hot shower waiting for us. And, when we have a moment, send a dog treat or some hot casserole to a neigbor in need.
I have to stop writing so that I can wipe my eyes and breathe. I hope you are all safe during Hurricane Dorian and others to come.
NOTE: ALL PHOTOS ARE OF THE FINISHED HOUSE. I CAN’T FIND THE CONSTRUCTION PHOTOS. THEY ARE PRETTY TRIGGERING, SO MAYBE THAT’S A GOOD THING.