Since little I always lived a very fast life sometimes I wonder if anyone could relate to what I’ve experienced
I was a very weird and quiet kid curious about the whole world and others I always got treated as an outcast
My first memory as a kid is seeing the cops outside multiple times And knowing that my father acted out again I didn’t really understand it at the time
He was abusive and aggressive towards my mom I’ve seen a lot of violence, guns, and alcohol (he was a alcoholic) At a really young age I saw things i shouldn’t have
my father would throw things screamed be aggressive towards my mother and me and my brothers ( I have two brothers I’m the middle child)
I saw him fight my older brother once and he tried to fight me as well multiple times
Another traumatic thing that happened Was seeing my dog get shot in the head by our neighbor because he claimed he bit his son.. I was only 12 And went to school the next day as if nothing happened later on we found out he’s done it before to somebody else
At 15 I dropped out I hated school I was being bullied girls wanted to fight me for guys Guys only wanted to use me and Bully me I just wanted to feel loved.. being outcasted again I didn’t understand why it felt like the world was against me sometimes
So I rebelled I met my first bf who was abused We would steal together I would sneak out to see him or sneak him in (I got caught multiple times) And I would even run away and stay at his friends house just to see him (His mom was a crackhead and almost stabbed him) So we would all rebel together and run away A bunch of kids with abusive homes Wanting to feel loved and cared for But no home to go to
my bf also abused me mentally and physically Bad It still affects till this day of how I view people
I got pregnant at 16 But lost him because I was being abused That changed me forever I try not to think about it too much
The abuse went on for years until i decided that enough was enough I called the cops on him and finally he was gone
I didn’t have any friends so I went on dating apps to meet people And I met this guy It was going sooo good
We were talking for 5 months then I started noticing my body was changing I was pregnant again.. But it was by my abusive ex I had the worst suicidal thoughts ever It was a very dark time for me Memories of his abuse came back I was having nightmares of him coming back
I had to get a abortion that also changed me forever
Things changed with him after the whole pregnancy I could tell it scared him a little and later on On my Birthday he cut things off with me
Something died inside me that night Again I felt like the world was against me Why can’t I just have something good for once? Everything I loved being taken from me
Years go by I made a lot of friends I lost a lot of friends
I started making music and got a good amount of people listening to it My pain and suffering made me make my beautiful art Art Of freedom I like to call it I always wanted to feel free
I moved in with a group of friends into this party house
It became a house show where all the hardcore bands would play at We had people break our windows Our house was basically a junkie house With loud music
Our neighbors were scared of us A bunch of punk rock kids screaming till the night I don’t blame them for hating us We were a mess People thought we were on drugs (We weren’t) We were all just depressed lol We made history there In our home area
But traumatic things happened there as well A lot of disrespect and mental abuse from friends happened And Black magic I have a hard time trusting people because of it The house was also very haunted so it made it worse
Now I’m 23 Moved out of there Just got out of another mentally exhausting draining friendship I was living with Now I’m on my own journey I almost died 3 times recently I scare myself sometimes Mental health is a serious thing And I want to save others from it I’m gonna make art Music Maybe even write a book About my experience Looking for what’s next In my insane life that I don’t understand sometimes But it made me stronger I make music and art and poetry I feel insane A good insane A passionate one I sometimes feel like I have a calling to do something here Something big Something different I want to change the world I still feel like an outcast sometimes I’m still looking for the answers To understand this feeling I wonder what’s coming next for me..
(Please be something good now)
I want to save others from the abuse I suffered as no one could save me from it
I hope to be SEEN. HEARD. FELT
I’ll forever continue to rebel against everything I don’t believe is right for us humans until I die
The global pandemic took the earth off its axis. People were dying from COVID, others were mourning those who they had lost. I was fortunate, nobody close to me suffered from the illness. Along with this crises many people became anxious and depressed. According to the Mayo Clinic “Worldwide surveys done in 2020 and 2021 found higher than typical levels of stress, insomnia, anxiety and depression (https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/coronavirus/in-depth/mental-health-covid-19/art-20482731). In many ways, I felt the rest of the world had caught up to my mental state from the previous year and a half. Having moved through mental distress for a long while, when my state and the rest of the country locked down, I just felt the quiet around me.
Our middle daughter stayed in extended care in Los Angeles, while the remainder of my immediate family was home. My husband and two other daughters dealt with with the stress of the pandemic in their own way. The neighborhood where we live, in the suburbs, borders on farm land; some people might say we live in the country. This location afforded the space to go on long walks almost every day. When COVID hit, we did not see Bailey (in person) for 4 months. That time was very much a respite for me. We talked with our child, on the west coast, every day and zoomed with her once a week. I was able to do things around the house that I had been putting off for years, but still stay connected to my child who was so far away. When we were finally given permission to go to California and see Bailey again, I was rested and ready to spend time with her….
Between the July 4th weekend and the end of August, in the summer of 2020, I made four trips to LA. I have many memories of that summer, but because we couldn’t spend a lot of time with Bailey (due to the treatment center’s COVID protocols) there was much time spent on my own. I walked countless miles by the water with my summer playlist strumming through my AirPods. On my walks, whether the ground was pavement or sand, the seed for this blog was planted. I would watch people. Each time I walked to Venice beach there would be a wizened woman, darkly tanned, most likely homeless, and I would wonder: ” What has led you here?”. One day, on my way to the beach beach, I was stopped by a man at the bus stop near my hotel. He was wondering why the bus hadn’t come and asked me the time. After telling him the time, he reached out and tried to give me a hug. I shrank back: did he not know there was a global pandemic? Again I thought, “What is your story?”.
The first summer trip to La La Land, was by myself. There was fear I would catch COVID on my flight, but flying during the pandemic was awesome: the planes were empty! I arrived in LA on July 3, 2020 I had a whole day ahead of me. Most of my trips between November and March had always been included a stop at The Native Spirit Lodge in Woodland Hills; my husband had discovered it on one of his trips by himself. This unique metaphysical shop became a favorite shop of mine. An old hobby, from my teenage years and early 20’s, of making beaded jewelry had been renewed. Fortunately, the lodge, which sold beads and all sorts of other items, had reopened for walk-in shopping. The traffic was light for the LA area, as many restrictions were still in place. I headed to my favorite store, had some lunch and then checked in to the hotel. During my March visit, I had decided that a place to reside in Marina del Rey would bring me joy: the location was a few blocks from the marina and a mile from the ocean.
The travel industry had changed in the months since I had been stationary: hotel rooms were cleaned and sanitized before arrival and then again after checking out. Many restaurants were closed or only open for takeout. Having traveled for so many months before the pandemic, I always stopped at a supermarket and bought food to help save money. If a bathroom was needed on a roadtrip, most likely there was one open in a grocery store or gas station (but not always).
Time with Bailey was limited. As she lived with several other girls, the fear of catching COVID, while away from the residence. was real. I know was able to spend both weekend days with Bailey, but the days that I write about are the most memorable…
The only things we could really do together were to an outdoor activity (that was not my middle child’s idea of fun) or car trips. A day on the road was the only option, but my question was: where should we drive? I was craving cooler air and a view of a lake; we spent Independence Day driving to and from the San Bernardino Mountains. The day moved pleasantly, Bailey was in a great mood and easy to talk to. Names of places, as we drove toward the mountains, were familiar. Most likely we stopped at a Jack-in-the-Box for lunch; that became a favorite take away spot, for us, that summer.
We arrived at our destination, a lakeside town, and didn’t leave the car. The amount of people was astounding! Traveling away from the lake, and up the hill, we looked down at the water. The view showed us wall to wall pontoon boats. During this day of celebration it appeared the pandemic was forgotten! Then, as we drove farther up, through the mountain neighborhoods, past beautiful houses and luxury cars, I got lost. We spotted a gaggle of teenagers, or early 20 somethings, roaming the narrow roads. Stopping the car, I asked for directions. Once we were given the new route, the young adult (at close proximity to the open window) said, “that’s a nice car”. As Bailey and I drove away, we laughed, not knowing if the compliment (on the basic rental car) was real or not, but the friendly helper seemed sincere. It was a good day!
The second trip to Los Angeles, in mid-summer of 2020, was with my husband and youngest daughter. On Saturday, with Bailey, we drove to Solvang; this was a suggestion of mine and not a great destination. When researching road-trips, it was on my list of places to visit: a “Danish village” in California. I should have known this place screamed “tourist trap”. As has been mentioned before, we only had limited time with Bailey….our drive to the not so sleepy little town took at least three hours. By the time we arrived, Solvang was not just our destination, but also that hundreds of other travelers! We had about an hour to walk around town. The day was hot, the streets were crowded, and always looming around us the thought “is anyone sick?”. My youngest daughter and I walked around more than Bailey and my husband, then it was time to head back to LA. On our long drive south, my husband said “we went all the way to a Danish town and I didn’t even get a Danish pastry!”
What I remember most about that weekend: were long walks on the beach with my 14 year old, looking for sand dollars and sea shells; a walk through the Venice canals; and vegetable Ramen. The soup needs an explanation…
…. My husband, youngest daughter and I were somewhat hungry our first night in LA, after a long day traveling. We didn’t want to walk far, as we had been up for hours, and our bodies were on east coast time. There was a strip mall, about a block from our hotel, with eateries. Not wanting something heavy, my daughter and I decided to try Venice Ramen. My significant other was not in the mood for soup, so he picked up dinner elsewhere. A table, in front of the restaurant, opened up for my daughter and me. The two of us sat, ordered our vegetable ramen, and waited for what we thought was going to be a quick meal from a ramen chain-restaurant; this was a wrong assumption. The sun was getting low in the sky, but still we sat. Our soup finally arrived and…. WOW! The “from scratch” Japanese broth, with vegetables and noodles, was worth the time we stayed watching the world go by! We still talk about this meal…
My final trip, by myself, to the City of Angeles was in mid-August. The time I spent on my own, was the same way as on past trips…a visit to The Native Spirit lodge and walking: either on the beach or around and through the marina. As I walked, happiness sprouted in me by the simplest of things: viewing the mighty Pacific when the waves rolled in, wild flowers that grew along the path, the way the sun looked as it rose in the morning…
Knowing Bailey would be coming home soon, I wanted to take a special road trip and visit something unique to the two of us. The event (per the summer of 2020 rules) had to be outside and socially distanced, yet would appeal to Bailey. In searching for places, online, I came upon the Mission San Juan Capistrano; this was about an hour drive south from the residence where my daughter lived. The mission looked like it might be a fun place visit: a story of the past, very pretty and was mostly outdoors. As promised, this lovely destination was full of history; it didn’t disappoint!
All of of the days Bailey and I had spent together during her time out west, in the year 2020, were noteworthy: we talked about many different things and and were able to be open with each other. So much had changed in the last 2 years!
The final trip to LA, in the pandemic summer, was to bring Bailey home. My husband and I flew to California on Tuesday, August 25 and returned (with our daughter) on Thursday, August 27.
I think of that summer as the “season of the sand dollars”. In the many visits to beaches, over my lifetime, I had never before found remains of these beautiful sea creatures; in the summer of 2020 there were more sand dollars than I could have imagined! Knowing there is often a symbolism behind certain phenomena, I looked up the significance of a sand dollar. The meanings surrounding this marine animals are diverse, but the one I connected with most was “a symbol of personal growth and transformation”. Although, I have always had self awareness, the time spent in therapy and on inward reflection changed me in ways I can’t describe. Despite life’s uncertainty, the ground finally felt solid beneath my feet.
To see the other parts of An Unexpected Journey, follow the links:
2020 started out on a positive note when Bailey decided to embrace “new year, new you”. We were told she was starting to do what she needed to do to help herself. Although I didn’t go to Los Angeles for a month following this news, the improvement in Bailey’s mood and spirit was evident through our phone calls and therapy sessions. When I reached the residence on Saturday, February 1st, one of the parents (who I had become friendly with) said: “You will be amazed by how much Bailey has changed!”. I was stunned! Before the new year, during Saturday morning family sessions, Bailey sat with her hoodie pulled up and barely spoke a word. That morning, in the parent/child group, Bailey was engaged and talkative, offering constructive comments and insights on herself and others; things had definitely improved! About a week after my visit, she moved from the residential treatment center back to the extended care house.
In mid-February, my husband youngest daughter and I went to visit Bailey. On the flight out to California, there was a medical emergency on the plane. We didn’t make an extra stop, nor did we find out what was wrong with the woman. In hindsight, I feel maybe it was the beginning of what was to come….
The first morning in LA, while Bailey was in school, we spent some time on Venice Beach. I don’t recall what we did with Bailey that weekend, most likely a road trip and a movie; the fact that I don’t remember means that it felt natural and good.
My next trip to LA was by myself, at the beginning of March. There were rumors that things were going to shut down because of something called the Coronavirus. I was worried that the planes in California were going to be grounded. Arrangements were made with my sister, that if my flight was canceled, I would drive my rental car to San Francisco to stay with her family; this was something small I could do to give me peace of mind. With the assurance that I had somewhere to go in case the inevitable happened, my weekend out west was thoroughly enjoyable.
A little thing I always did on my trips to LA was add some extra time just for me; this trip was no exception. After a morning swim on Friday, I spent time exploring a new area to me: Marina del Rey.
That evening, after family therapy, Bailey snd I went to dinner at a sushi restaurant where we tried sea urchin. Later, after a trip to Target, she showed me an area she liked to view at night.
On Saturday, we drove up the PCH to Santa Barbara to see the old mission. The two of us spent a really great weekend together!
By the time I visited in early March, our middle child had made such progress that we would be able to have an overnight with her on our next visit. If the overnight was successful, a weekend together was the next step. I started planning to venture farther than LA. The prospect of taking Bailey out of the city was exciting! At the end of our time together, when my goodbyes were said to my middle child, I didn’t realize it would be several months until we saw her (in person) again. Three days after I arrived home, it was evident that the world was going to close down: the stores were packed and an announcement was made that public schools were going to close. Then, for me, the quiet came and the world stopped…
In December of 2019, as the days grew shorter, we realized Bailey wasn’t getting better; in fact, she was worse than we thought. Our middle child was put on new medicines, but these would take some time to start working. If it was within my means, I would do anything to help my middle child. Besides going to LA and spending time with our daughter, there wasn’t much more that I could do. Speaking with my therapist, she suggested I talk with someone she knew who might be able to help: a holistic healer. My thoughts were skeptical, but needing to do something, I reached out to this woman who said she could help heal my child from a distance. Perhaps this was an aspiration. However, if a little thing would help Bailey, maybe this was it. I still had hope. The holistic healer was hired, and the first appointment was held on December 12. When the session ended, I asked how long it would take to see a change in Bailey. The answer “about 3 weeks”.
As we moved toward winter solstice, darkness slammed into us. My husband and I were told we would need to look for a long-term residential treatment center for our child. Again, this was taking us down a path unimagined.
What would a long-term treatment program look like? This was something I needed to know, but didn’t want to find out what it entailed. We received this information mid-December. I was trying my hardest to plan a nice a trip out west for Christmas. A hotel had been booked: a room for my oldest and youngest daughters and a room for my husband and me; it was in a good location near stores and restaurants and within walking distance of the residence where Bailey was living. I had made reservations for a late lunch on Christmas Day, at a Jewish deli, as it was the one restaurant in the area that was open. My sister and her family were hoping to drive down from San Francisco to LA the day after Christmas to be with us for part of our time out west……would Bailey still be in California?
We kept our reservations and had our fingers crossed that everything would come together as planned. Gifts had been bought, but our most important tradition of making Christmas cookie hadn’t been completed. When my first born arrived home from college she took the reins and made sure we had Christmas cookies for us to decorate.
Our search for a long term treatment center had barely begun when the Christmas holiday was upon us. Bailey stayed in California. We arrived the day before day Christmas. The week we spent in the San Fernando Valley was excruciating at times. Bailey was very unstable; all she wanted to do was to go home and kill herself. Luckily my sister, her husband, and their two teenage boys came down the evening of December 26 and added the distraction my oldest and youngest daughters needed. Although I enjoyed our times as a nuclear family, before and after the arrival of my extended family, Bailey’s sisters needed more than just my husband and me. I found solace during my early morning swims (in the 40° darkness under the stars, with only the pool lights to see onto the deck). However, the arrival of my sister’s family also added the extra layer of levity I needed…
Christmas week in pictures
On New Year’s Eve we came home from California. Either that night, or New Years’s day, we received a call from Bailey’s therapist: she had turned a corner. She had decided to embrace “new year, new you” and was starting to do what she needed to do to help herself. Whether it was the new medicines taking effect, the support she received from her extended family or something else, we will never know. Perhaps the strength that had allowed Bailey to stay alive all of this time, through the years of depression, had finally come through in full force. Whatever it was, the stars aligned and we were so thankful!
In early August, many of our conversations focused around Bailey going to an extended care program before coming home; this would be with the same treatment center. At one point, Bailey said, “the only reason you think I should go is because it is better for you”. I tried to explain how it would be a good segue from residential care into normal life: we wanted her to have a healthy transition so that she would be in the best place possible when she came home. Frankly, I wasn’t sure Bailey was ready to come home. She had a way of misleading people into believing all was well when it wasn’t….in the end Bailey moved to extended care.
I missed Bailey, but maybe her words “it would be better for you” rang true. Perhaps knowing she was somewhere safe was what I needed to focus on my own healing; it hadn’t occurred to me how the “trauma” from my past had taken a toll on me. Actually, I hadn’t thought of all the hard things I went through as trauma. Late in the summer, as schools were already in session, I realized that running, swimming, yoga and talk therapy were only helping me feel a little better. Were the tears that were always ready to flow partly due to my changing hormones? Mid September was the time when I had my women’s wellness check. Sobbing when I saw my gynecologist of 21 years, my story was told. She put me put me on Zoloft. I also started energy healing along with traditional therapy. The Zoloft calmed the anxiety I felt for my middle child. Energy healing helped me let go of things I was holding deep inside myself.
October began with my mother, husband, youngest daughter and me flying to LA to celebrate Bailey’s 16th birthday. The weather was beautiful! We were staying in a new area of LA. Our first full day was without our middle child. We spent a good part of that day at the Getty Museum.
We picked up Bailey on Saturday morning and she appeared to be doing well. There seemed to be enthusiasm about spending her down time with us: driving around the city; taking in a museum; hanging out and playing cards.
The Museum of Death was the place of interest that we decided to visit with Bailey. Permission was given from the treatment center. In hindsight, this might not have been the best choice.
Her grandmother treated us all to a wonderful dinner to celebrate Bailey’s birthday. One afternoon we brought cake to the hotel. Then our time with Bailey was over for awhile…my next trip was not for a month.
When the leaves on the trees started their transformation from greens to the bright autumn hues, my mindset also began to change. The weekend before Halloween I took a solo trip to visit my eldest daughter, who was a Sophomore in college; this was I knew something had altered for me. I had planned my weekend around long walks with and without my daughter. For a few weeks I hadn’t been running because my knee had been bothering me, so a hotel with a pool had been booked. I arrived on a Thursday night. Friday morning I met my daughter for breakfast. My plans were set for the day: first breakfast, then a long walk to make returns that I hadn’t had time to do at the stores near home. The walk was at least five miles round trip. After breakfast I said goodbye to my adult child until that evening. The day was beautiful and very warm for a fall day in Massachusetts. Enjoying my walk, I was about a mile from the stores when my knee buckled and took me down to the ground. With the pain surging through my knee I sat on someone’s stairs in the middle of Somerville, MA. Eventually the pain lessened. I got up and decided to hobble the rest of the way to Assembly Row. Once I reached the the Mystic River, near the shops, I calmly installed the Lyft App, then went into the stores to return my things. The 2.5 mile walk back to the parking garage where my car was parked wouldn’t be happening.
Although, I was in pain and spent a good part of the afternoon icing my knee and resting, a satisfaction of sorts settled over me: with the exception of not having a great walk, everything I set out to do had been accomplished. An appointment with the orthopedic surgeon was made. Also, I learned how to use a Lyft. The last thing may seem extremely small, but every time I learn something new I hear my dad’s voice in my head: “It’s good to learn something new every day”.
That evening, I met my daughter and her boyfriend, at the university, and walked into town for dinner. Sadly, the dinner was interrupted; it was necessary to talk with someone at Bailey’s treatment facility. Once again, my thoughts were divided between the conversation at the dinner table and my concern for my middle child out west. For the second time, I felt sad that the small amount of time I had to get to know my daughter’s significant other was interrupted. Although I knew my child in LA was going back to in treatment care, my college age daughter and I enjoyed the rest of our weekend together. We took a road trip on Saturday to Marblehead. Sunday we met for brunch, then I made the long drive home in the pouring rain.
Between my weekend drive to Massachusetts and my flight at the end of the week to LA, I was able to see the orthopedic surgeon about my knee. On my visit I was informed that there was “severe arthritis behind each knee cap”. My main question of the doctor was “Will I be able to run anymore?” He gave me a look and said, “What do you think?”. Obviously the answer was “no”. “Just another ending, another thing to mourn”, was my thought that fall day. I had been running for 33 years. I was not old, just 51, but I had known for a long time my knees would give up on me. For so many years I ran through worst things to happen in life. I could’ve railed against the unfairness of this news, along with everything else that was happening/ had happened in my life. Walking through the hard things and stopping to face them was something I knew could be done. As much as it hurt to stop running, I didn’t break. There was pleasure taken in my growth to be able to stand up to the bad; this is how recognizing joy the little things began for me: to take something negative and find the positive…..
Preface: This is the harrowing story of one man trapped outside during Hurricane Ian. He is a friend of the family and many people I know. His will to live shows fortitude and strength. Although long, it is an amazing story!
STORM SURGE
Get your motor runnin’ Head out on the highway Lookin’ for adventure And whatever comes our way
I decided to commit my memories of September 28, 2022 to writing for two reasons. First, I was understandably and repeatedly asked what happened, and it grew time consuming to repeat the story. Secondly, I needed to exorcise my mind of the devils and the repeated visuals and decisions made that day.
Eliza and I live in Barefoot Beach, part of Bonita Springs, Florida. Our power went out around 9AM on Wednesday, September 28. We had heard that there was power in the clubhouse which was across the parking lot from us, and I could see lights on, so we thought we might try to go over there and charge phones and use hot water. We went down the stairwell from the sixth floor at 11:10 AM; the elevator was out. At the bottom it was hard to open the door as the water was already rushing in from the garage. We had seen from above that the waves had breached the beach, the mangrove and sea grape forests, and was flowing into the garage. We wanted to see if we could get across the parking lot, but Eliza decided to return and went upstairs.
I walked through our garage to the entrance, but I could tell that the waves were too high to cross the parking lot. So I returned to the stairway door, and it was locked. Eliza had gone back up. I had no key. The elevator was out. I was stuck. I thought Eliza would eventually realize I don’t have a key (because I had foolishly forgotten it before) and would come down, so I found a perch in the entrance way, sat 4 feet up from the floor and watched the waves come pounding across the beach, across the sand dunes, into and through the garage, past me and out the other side onto the road. The waves grew larger, and I watched a handrail as a marker for the amount of water in the building. Several times I left my perch and made my way around the back of the building where there was little wind to see if I could do a quick scoot across to the clubhouse, but I saw each time that this was impossible. So I returned to my perch, but eventually the water was up to my four foot perch, the waves were splashing me in the face, and I realized that if I stayed there, I would drown. I also assumed now that Eliza thought I had safely made it across the parking place to the clubhouse and was enjoying a hot tea.
So I followed the water rushing out the door, hung on to the gate, and considered my alternatives. Eventually the wind got me and blew me across the Barefoot Beach Boulevard into the mangrove forest. The force of it was incredible. I was lifted up and thrown like a ragdoll. As I got over to the other side, I clung to a tree and noticed that large projectiles, including tables, chairs, paddle boards, and kayaks were flying through the air hitting the trees and breaking in half; and I realized if one of them hit me, I would not survive the collision. So I let the water and the wind drive me further into the mangroves which protected me from the projectiles. As I got further in, I started to find assorted objects, including chairs, benches, paddle boards and finally a submerged red kayak that I could sit in. I thought I might stay there, but it kept tipping. I looked around and saw a large green object that appeared to be another strangely shaped kayak, so I abandoned the red kayak, and swam over to what turned out to be a capsized kayak belonging to one of my neighbors, Jon Fay on the 4th floor of our building. It had a large draft, so it was difficult to clamber up on top of it. One of my own paddles came flying by, and I grabbed it and was able to paddle.
I assumed that if I paddled through this mangrove forest I would come to the bay behind our building and then, with the wind coming from south to north, be driven over towards the Bonita Beach Road, and there might be people who would have telephones and help me. I was finally able to exit the mangrove forest into the bay mostly by pulling forward with trees on each side. But when I got there, I found it was a false bay and everything was piled up at the end. So I made my way across this short bay on my overturned kayak with my broken paddle and got into the next mangrove forest through which I believed I could go to get to the next bay. But once into the next mangrove forest my upside down kayak kept snagging on roots and branches and wouldn’t move forward. The kayak had a seat with a high seatback and a pedal mechanism which was down, and roots were getting stuck on it, and I could not move forward. To make any progress, I realized I had to get off the boat, which I did not want to do because it was hard to get on. And I certainly didn’t want to get into the water with alligators and snakes (I kept thinking water moccasins), but I decided I had to. So I got off and went under the boat, detached the snags, got back on, and made a little progress. Then same problem again. I got off the kayak, detached the snags, got back on again. I was getting exhausted doing this. I was making almost no progress, and I couldn’t quite break through to the bay on the other side. I realized I needed to overturn the kayak so the seat and paddle mechanism would no longer snag the kayak. So I got in the water and, of course, I had no purchase because the water was over 10 feet deep, (I dove down to investigate), and the kayak was a large one, 100 pounds Jon Fay later told me. I kept lifting, and I could get it up a little bit, but I couldn’t get it up much more than that. And then I found a branch not far from the boat, so I shoved the boat over and climbed on the branch. I tried 10 or 15 times without success. Then I noticed that if I moved the boat perpendicular to the wind, the wind could help me. And so I waited for a strong gust and heaved up the boat and turned it over. I thought my problems were now solved. I had a paddle, I had an upright kayak with no water in it, but then I had to get into to it, and it had very high gunnels, and it was very difficult to get in. Each time I threw a leg up and over, the boat would start to tip, and I was afraid the boat would tip over again on top of me. But eventually I was able to get up in it, and I had my paddle, so I paddled back into an open area and decided I would paddle against the wind around the mangrove forest, rather than through it, and then take the wind and current to the Bonita Beach Road. I hadn’t gone far before a harsh gust tipped me over, and I thought oh my gosh I’ve got to do the whole exercise all over again. This time the wind was stronger and it was easier to turn it over, but my paddle was blown away. I got the boat right-sided, clambered in, and retreated back into the mangroves. I was starting to shiver a lot, and I was afraid that I would get hypothermia, so I waited for a while. All the while I kept thinking this cannot be happening; it is simply a bad dream, wake up. This isn’t reality. And then I remembered my basic training where the DIs told us: This is reality, deal with it. It was just starting to get dark. It had been grey all day with heavy winds and biting rain, but now I sensed dusk, and I knew I would not survive a night out in the open.
I noticed that the wind was changing. It was no longer south to north but north to south. I thought that if I got out into the wind and current and got the pedal mechanism working, which I did to a minor extent, disappointingly, the wind would drive me down the bay to the Delnor Wiggins Pass, and there I could get out onto a beach and make my way into the state park and then out into an area where maybe there were some people. I forgot to mention I had lost my shoes early on, so I had no shoes but short pants, a shirt, an L.L. Bean rain jacket, and no hat. The rain was slanting hard and kept blinding me, so I had to maneuver with my eyes slanted.
I finally got the boat out into the bay, and the wind picked me up, taking me in the direction I hoped it would; and as I moved in that direction I noticed that I could see for the first time the outline of condominium buildings near us which I had not been able to see before because of the wind, rain, and darkness. These were condominium buildings further south from the one in which we live. And I remembered at Building 9 there was a kayak launch, and if I could get the boat over to the kayak launch, I could get out on dry land (I hadn’t felt dry land for seven hours), and go home. So I got as close as I could. The peddle mechanism worked somewhat but not enough, and the rudder was stuck in the wrong position. But I eventually maneuvered the boat into the first line of mangroves, abandoned ship, and swam over to the building. I remember the joy in suddenly seeing the building and the concrete foundation under the mangroves as I made my way through the mangroves. I clambered out into the garage, walked through the garage, came out from the building and got thrown over again by the wind. I made my way across their parking lot to the Barefoot Beach Boulevard, tripping on displaced concrete and bricks, and falling from wind gusts. I then swam, and walked up the boulevard from Building 9 to our Building 3. I could see there were lights flashing at our building, and I assumed it was the police and fire department who were out looking for me and they would have warm blankets and hot chocolate. But that was not the case. Something had triggered the fire alarm for the building. I got to our building and made my way over to the stairway. Fortunately, the stairway door which had locked me out in the first place had been blown away, so I could walk up the stairway. It was totally dark. I had no flashlight, but I made it up six floors counting, got to the door which leads to the corridor which leads to our apartment, and it was locked. I could not believe my bad luck. I walked down to the fourth floor where our neighbors, Jon and Elissa Fay, who had stayed through the hurricane, lived, and tried their door; but it was locked. I felt my way down to the bottom floor thinking that I’ll go over to the clubhouse and seek shelter there if I am able to get there. Then I heard a voice and saw a light. It was my friend, Jon Fay, whose kayak had saved me. He had come down to the bottom floor. I approached him, and he suggested we go over to the clubhouse as the waves had diminished. So I volunteered to go first as I now had experience in tripping through buried concrete remnants. I tried, but I kept tripping and getting blown over; and then I felt the storm surge had created a large chasm, and we couldn’t cross it. Jon had caught up to me, and we decided to go back. It suddenly occurred to my addled brain that if he was there, he must be able to get through the door to the corridor and then to his unit. So I said that if the doors were locked, how did you do this, and he said the stairwell doors were not locked, it’s air rushing up the stairwell and creating a wind tunnel effect; but if you push down the handle and push your shoulder into the door, you’ll be able to get in. We went up to his floor and he showed me. By then he could see that I was in shock, so he gently with a flash light guided me up to the next two floors to our floor. We opened the door and got to the corridor, went over to the door, and I saw a sign on the door; and I thought, oh my gosh Eliza has left a sign saying she’s abandoned the condo and gone somewhere, but it only said that she was in the bathroom because the fire alarm was making such a racket. We opened the door, and she looked at me in shock and astonishment and rushed forward and took me in a love embrace. I must have looked like an apparition. The nine hours of loss were written on her face.
She stripped me of my clothes and wrapped me up in warm blankets and put me in bed. I shivered uncontrollably for about an hour and a half. Elissa Fay from the fourth floor brought up some lemon sugar water. She said if you’re in shock, you need to sugar. It was only as I was getting undressed that I realized that I was cut all over my body, bleeding and badly bruised from all the collisions with trees and branches. I also had a scary something in my left eye that hurt. I couldn’t sleep that night because I kept dreaming of my trip and trying to re-think the decisions I made. But the next morning I felt better, but my muscles ached in a horrible way. I couldn’t sit up without help, and I couldn’t elevate my legs without help. Those muscles, which served me so well, were kaput. It was a miracle and God’s help that brought me home. The final miracle was that I came back at precisely the right time to meet Jon Fay on the ground floor with a flash light. He was a guardian angel. He told me I could open the stairway door to the 6th floor and led me there. If he comes out 10 minutes earlier or 10 minutes later, I had no more alternatives.
Storm Footage
This video was sent to my friend who has a place in Old Naples, which is down the shore from Barefoot Beach. My friend wasn’t in Florida at the time, however this video shows 5th Avenue in Old Naples after the water had receded some; it is normally a road. The video may help give you a sense of the storm Hugh had to endure.
Hugh saw this footage after I published his story; this is what he said: “The video is tame. The waves which swept me away were over 7 feet high, nothing flat and placid. The winds and waves were far more ferocious. This video looks like the aftermath of the storm.”
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