When the Heavy Stuff Comes Down

We don’t get many cyclones here in Central Jersey. There’s a time for everything, though.

Four inches of rain and powerful winds can do terrible things, and they did just that in the New York City area yesterday. Mother Nature brought her torrent of tears to our backyard as well, and she wasn’t willing to negotiate. When the soil had held all the moisture it could contain, the water began streaming up through our basement’s foundation. We pleaded with her to stop, but her lack of cooperation left us with no choice: We pulled out the heavy artillery, plugged in the Shop-Vac, and got to work.

Mother’s response was simple: Shop-Vac this, buddy. No machinery, towels or buckets were going to stem this flow of water. We felt like Little Leaguers up at bat against Johan Santana. As the water rose and spread, the goal became simple: Save the basement. So we did.

By 3 a.m., when the rain had finally subsided, the dozens of gallons of water we’d cleaned up were all safely streaming down the drain. Our carpet is toast, but the basement lives on to see another daylight savings time. Compared to many others in our area, we were very lucky. Amy and I stumbled to bed, and morning arrived far too quickly.

As I was scrambling to mop and sweep and vacuum last night, I found myself thinking quite a lot about my brothers and sisters in Haiti, Chile, New Orleans and Indonesia, who in recent days, months and years have endured exponentially worse conditions due to natural disasters. I was trying to salvage some carpet strips we had bought at Home Depot; the earthquakes, hurricanes and tsunamis we’ve all seen and read about mercilessly swept aside homes, cars and, of course, lives.

I have no real idea what it’s like to live through a true natural disaster. But there was one moment in the middle of the night when I believe I got a small glimpse. Amy and I have had more stress than we’d like in recent weeks – lack of sleep due to our new puppy, winter illnesses in the house, many inches of snow to remove, dual work schedules, and stuff everywhere as the bathroom gets renovated. It’s been hard to find any time to connect and really talk with each other. As a result, we’ve both had much shorter fuses lately.

But at three in the morning, after five hours of fighting this force much stronger than us, it was clear that we had worked incredibly well together, and had prevented this problem from becoming so much worse. It’s not the first time we’ve found strength in each other and endured something difficult together. It’s what we vowed to do 14½ years ago, and what we’d gladly vow to do again today.

What’s more, it’s what anyone who cares for another will do in the face of extreme challenge. Maybe that’s why, amidst all the deep sorrow and mourning in Haiti, I’ve seen photos of individuals smiling and hugging each other. In their eyes, you see the message: We’re still alive, and we’re helping each other find a way to tomorrow. When you’ve found a way through the darkness by holding the hand of another, it seems that there’s a special kind of grace to that. And these moments of peace might just carry along a clarity, perspective and fellowship that you had misplaced somewhere.

Before the storm, Amy and I were complaining about losing the hour to daylight savings time. We were hoping to squeeze in some time to watch “The Hurt Locker,” but we worried that the lost hour and our puppy’s wakeup time would make a mess of that.

Mother Nature took care of that “problem,” and Kathryn Bigelow’s film will wait until another day. But at 3 a.m., as we stood on the cold tile floor of our basement, Amy and I couldn’t have cared less about watching a movie.

We had made it through. Together. So we turned to each other, in between the furnace and the slop sink, and embraced. Not quite Best Picture material, but at the moment it did just fine.