When I first heard about evacuations in Mission, I went home.
I wrote up an evac packing list. I opted to check the 100 year flood plan, even while thinking, “well, it won’t be this bad.”
So we opted to take a walk, get some beer.
When we made the decision to leave, it was the stark reality that we may never see these pieces of our life again. Hardest was our decision to leave the cat.
At some point yesterday I had to stop watching the TV and Twitter. I was full. I didn’t want to know any more. I had to it let go.
And yet, I couldn’t.
I couldn’t pull myself away. When I tried to rest, I kept thinking of the house – room by room, what was left behind. Each time, I felt assured that we did a pretty good job. But that didn’t stop my brain.
The images are haunting. But the stories are heartening – the virtual connections made with my actual neighbours, those who stayed behind to give updates & to shore up the river banks, and care and support from near and far.
Community is not something you can force. It’s not an event you go to; it’s not a mandate you follow. It rises from the foundations of human nature to reach out when needed. Most visible in times of great need.
I feel a small swell of relief today that our house was spared, that water levels will decline, and that the sun is shining.
