Two years ago, I penned this: It’s Okay To Cry By: Steven Moore Dear Reader, This is a deeply personal article. It’s the most personal thing I’ve ever shared so broadly. It’s one that I wrote in my head this past week while I had no power, no internet and virtually no connection to the outside world. The beauty of the human condition is that we need no electricity to think or speak. Our brains are so powerful that they are writing memories even in the face of the most intense and scary situations life throws at us. This is my story of Sandy. It’s one I needed to write down for my wife Noreen. My son Luke. For my parents, sister and brother. For all of the victims of Sandy searching for strength. Perhaps, most importantly, it’s one that I needed to write down for myself. All of the articles I’ve written for this site marinated for a long time. The funny lines and quips were a thoughtful process in which I imagined you’d all laugh. Whether you truly knew me or not, I had imagined that you would get to know me through my words and when we finally got to shake hands, there’d be a connection. That said, I’ll warn you upfront that this article is not funny in any way. It’s my proverbial heart on my sleeve for the world to see and, quite frankly, I’m okay with it. I remember the last time I cried before tonight. The last time I really, really cried. The kind of crying that you can’t control, that just comes out because your body is screaming at you to do so in order to feel better. I was very ill. Very, very ill. I woke up one morning after being ravaged by fevers well into the triple digits and headaches that made me feel as though my skull was going to explode --- and went to take a sip of my coffee and I was wearing it on my clothes. I feared I had had a stroke overnight as the left side of my face had shut down with palsy. That morning, when I got to look at my wife in the eyes, I lost it. That was 2007. It turns out I had Lyme Disease well into the 3rd week or so. Thankfully, it was caught in time for me to fully recover. I’ve been told that pain, and crying I suppose, is symbolic of weakness leaving the body. I tend to disagree with this. I feel like those moments are strength being garnered. In fact, once I finished ‘letting it out’, I sat down to pen this article feeling stronger and rejuvenated. It’s Saturday night, November 3, 2012. I’m in a cabin by myself, separated from my family for the past 5 days since I sent them somewhere where there was warmth, food, cold milk for the baby and less of the painful images that surround me. But I’m feeling stronger for the first time since… From 7:30PM to 10:00PM on Monday, October 29, 2012 my life changed forever. It had been a rather innocuous rainy, windy October day although, as a major weather hobbyist, I was well aware of what was coming. In fact, I had personally used Facebook as my sounding board to tell people how serious and unprecedented this storm was. Some of my happiest moments have been from people thanking me for the warnings, as they moved away from what was sure to be further disaster for them and their families. So, I stepped outside to get a look at the heavy breeze blowing when, out of nowhere, a mighty gust ripped through my neighborhood and toppled a tree onto my neighbor’s house. Oh, and the back story, you ask? This was the 5th day of our move into our new Northern NJ house. Nothing like a Hurricane to welcome you to the neighborhood. But I digress. I bolted inside the sliding glass door and grabbed my 1 year old son Luke and wife Noreen and we moved to a well protected hallway. Moments later, a 120 foot ash tree toppled and demolished her car and slammed into our house. Two minutes later another tree hit the house. Then after that, transformers blew out and the green of the light left behind allowed us to see the fury of the 90 mile an hour winds toppling trees and ripping out power lines like it was nothing. For the first time in my life, as I held my son and tried to keep my wife and self calm, I learned what the word ‘terror’ meant. When I awoke to the morning light, I had 15 trees down on my property, 2 on the house and a totaled car. And, you know what; I’ve come to learn that I’m one of the lucky ones. My parents raised us on the Jersey Shore in Belford --- a small town in Monmouth County about a mile from the bay. At the very same time all of this was happening, the water was rising in my parents’ house. A tidal creek behind their home was so high that the pressure exploded their basement windows and filled it rapidly. I was on the phone with my Mom while all hell was breaking loose in my new world. My father, who hasn’t approved this story being released (but, if I know him, he’ll be okay with it), later relayed this conversation between him and my mother --- married for 39 years… Mom: Staring at the water quickly rising up the basement stairs and into their family room) “Do you think we should go to the second floor?” Dad: (Pausing and looking in her eyes) “I do.” Mom: (In tears) “I love you.” While their house has been ravaged with flood waters, they are okay. In fact, they might be more okay than I am and I’m grateful for it. Why? Well how about an anecdote, just one of many… I got a message on Facebook from a gentleman that I hadn’t spoken with in 15 years. He was a baseball teammate that was certainly close back in the day but, as life allows with no ill intention, we had drifted apart. He gave me his cell phone and we spoke a couple of nights after the storm. He told me that after he fed his baby at 6AM, that he would head over to my parents’ house to help them remove the demolished and water logged contents of their basement. He spent 4 hours there and laughed the whole way through. He heaved insanely heavy items over his shoulders to make sure that my father didn’t have to do it and that mold did not become yet another issue my parents had to deal with. Oh yeah, and he has a heart condition. Thank you, Billy Howlett. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. Since the night of the storm, I’ve seen some of the most horrific, debilitating, painful --- hope-laden and joyous things that I’ve ever seen in my life. And tonight, for whatever reason, it hit me after reading one too many painful stories of my hometown. I cried for real for the first time since 2007. This is painful. It’s real. It’s something we all hope to never see again. Let it out and let the strength in. Perhaps the tough guys out there might snicker at my moment of weakness and openness in sharing it. I honestly don’t care. Let them laugh. To the victims, friends, relatives and the compassionate and sympathetic onlookers of this great country and Earth: It’s okay to cry. In fact, in this dreadful situation, I encourage it… The victims need you all to be strong.
Posted on: Wed, 29 Oct 2014 22:55:40 +0000
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