The local newspaper had called her a hero. The national news outlets had picked it up and the story had gone viral. Now the whole damned country thought so too. Eileen had smiled for the cameras and told her story. Her tears had been real too.
She’d let it all happen because she’d desperately needed the GoFundMe money that flooded in. How else was she going to take care of Desi? Because the truth was, when the flood water had started to seep in under the door, she’d realized what she really was. A goddamned fool.
The governor had said the hurricane was going to be bad. He warned people to evacuate. But Eileen had been too tired and too overwhelmed at the thought of pulling together all of Desi’s medications, his wheelchair, and all the medical equipment she used every day just to manage him at home. She’d decided they’d go if they had to and not a moment before.
So when she woke up the morning of the big blow, as people were now calling it, water was already trickling in under the door. She guessed it was time to go. But one look outside the living room window showed water higher than the sill and rising. They were trapped!
Water began to pour into the hallway. Eileen only froze for a moment before realizing she had to get Desi upstairs. But how? He couldn’t use his legs since the stroke, and his arms weren’t a lot better. And he outweighed her by eighty pounds.
Eileen grabbed her cell phone and called 911. The dispatcher said someone would come as soon as it was safe to do so. Too late. That would be too late. Eileen ran through ankle-deep water for Desi’s makeshift bedroom in the main-floor den, shouting for him to wake up. He somehow helped her maneuver him into his wheelchair and they sloshed through rising water to the stairs.
Sobbing, Eileen pulled him out of the chair and began dragging him up the stairs. It was excruciating for both of them. Eileen’s bad shoulder nearly dislocated as she hauled him up the first step. Her breath caught and she had to stop as black spots danced before her eyes. But the water covered Desi’s legs almost to his knees. She steeled herself and managed to pull him up another three steps before having to rest again.
By the time they reached the first landing, Eileen’s tears had been replaced by a quiet despair. She couldn’t do this. Desi’s feet were still in the water, and it continued to rise. Eileen only allowed herself a minute to rest, then began the slow ascent to the second level. By the time she reached it, Desi’s knees were covered.
At the last of her strength, Eileen nonetheless took hold of Desi’s shoulders to attempt the final ascent. Desi, who had borne all of this with the typical quiet fortitude with which he had faced all of his challenges, laboriously lifted a hand to hold hers. “Enough,” he said. “Leave me and get yourself as high as you can.”
Eileen let out a sob and tried to pull him up another step. “No. I can’t leave you.”
“You have to. You can’t go on. I love you. I want you to live. Please.”
Desi was right. Eileen couldn’t pull him any farther. But she couldn’t leave him either. She leaned forward, resting her forehead on his shoulder, resigned that they would go together. Desi didn’t protest further, seeming to understand. They called their daughter to say goodbye.
The water continued to rise, reaching Desi’s hips. But then, miraculously, it began to recede. Sometime later, their son-in-law called out to them from downstairs. He waded through hip-deep water and helped Eileen and Desi down the stairs and out into a boat.
The house was gone—demolished after the flood. Eileen and Desi had bought a first-floor apartment in one of those modern buildings. She glanced over at the go bag near the door. The one she always kept there, ready to bug out at the first sign of danger.
But one thing had become ominously clear to both Eileen and Desi during the flood. She wasn’t really able to take care of him. Not well enough. Not enough to keep him safe in an emergency. What if the water had risen higher? What if there had been a fire instead of a flood?
Her heart broke as she looked down at the papers for the nursing home. It had been Desi’s idea. Desi and his damned practical mind. Desi and his fortitude. Tears stung Eileen’s eyes as she picked up the pen and started to fill in the forms.
This story was inspired by a news story I read about a family caught in the flooding that occurred in Florida during Hurricane Ian, as well as the devastation there and the damage in Canada when Fiona passed through the east coast. I had family affected there.
You can donate to help those affected by Fiona through the Red Cross. The government of Canada is matching donations, so anything you can give goes a long way!
You can donate to help those affected by Ian through the Red Cross as well.
I’m sure there are other ways to donate, but I like the Red Cross as I know it is a legitimate charitable organization that does good work throughout the world.
Please donate if you can and feel moved to do so. Please share to social media if you can. Anything helps.
Good story, Dascha! Are your relatives okay?
This must have been a very difficult story to write, Dascha. Thank you for making it so real. I grew up in Florida, had been through many hurricanes. Never saw anything like Ian. Some big ones had passed us by to slam into the panhandle of the state. I read off an older couple who drowned in each other’s arms. The firefighters who found them cried. This was our FIRST climate crisis hurricane. Yet all the news is STILL about Trump. I’m so angry. Young people are studying, ready to step in. I met one this week. Is there hope for them?