Hurricane Ian - Hope and a Prayer

One week ago, twenty-one million people held their breath.  

Then came the punch.

Without mercy, Hurricane Ian battered our beautiful sandy shores, surfside homes, favorite coffee shops, and sacred spaces.  

From hundreds of miles away, we saw him coming.  

We sounded the alarms.

We prepared.  

We called in the troops.

Yet, his brute force and unwelcomed persistence tore us in so many hurtful ways.  His broad bands of wind and rain - three hundred fifty miles wide - sliced concrete buildings in half, tossed boats like play toys, shattered old and young lives, and left too much grim destruction for most of us to take.

Inside the pungent bursts of an angry, white-capped surge, too many loved ones, were taken out to sea - now belonging to the tides of an ocean we adore and hate at the same time.

What the State of Florida, the people of Fort Meyers, and the heroes still rescuing have been through is nothing less than tragic. 

Our eyes are wet with tears and our hearts are heavy with grief.

We scroll through pictures of the wreckage as fond memories make their way through our bewildered minds.  We reminisce on the special memory of that sunny day on the beach when Sanibel Island became part of the family photo album and Naples became a framed sunset on the wall.  We scroll through pictures recalling the bumpy rides on the boat, the flaming Florida sun beating down on our tan skin, the warm nights at the local ice cream parlor down the road, our favorite crab shack, and our precious walks on the white, sparkly sand.  

We held hands.  We kissed.  And we hugged.

Mostly, we remember who we made those memories with...The people we will never forget...

The Captain who refused to leave his vessel

The homeowner who refused to leave everything she had worked so incredibly hard to build, sustain, and enjoy.

The business owner who refused to leave his shop because it kept food on the table and he knew no other way to make life work.

The frail, elderly friend who was afraid she wouldn't survive a shelter

The young lad who thought he could outmuscle the storm.

The Florida-born couple who'd seen a hundred storms come and go and assumed this was the same.

We love and miss them all. We will always miss their sense of adventure, love of the coast, and sunny spirit.  

The nostalgia of lost business and windswept beaches will never leave our broken hearts.

Just as we know the tide will come and go, we know we will rebuild.  Ian left us battered and bruised, but our love of each other will heal the hurt and someday, dry the tears.  

To the mother who lost a son and to the son who lost a mother...

To the husband who lost a wife and to the wife who lost a husband...

To the parent who lost a child and to the child who lost a parent...

To the friend who lost a friend...

We are sorry.

We are sorry for your hurt and we pray you lean into the soft mercy and gentle spirit of a God who created you to keep loving, keep caring, keep building, and keep going.  

May we remember the joy of the sun despite the wickedness of the sea.

May we hold hands, kiss, and hug.

May we rebuild only to never forget.  

Shalom,

Annette Snedaker