Reflections on Being Human during Hurricane Sandy

Dear Editor,

Having grown up in Puerto Rico, I am no stranger to hurricanes. Interestingly, I have only fond memories of hurricanes; memories of spending the entire day together with family. The adults weren’t busy, and we all slept at Grandma’s! Although the windows were boarded up and the wind and heavy rain pelted the roof and walls, I have only good feelings associated with those experiences.

For the positive quality of those memories, I think my parents have to be credited for managing these dangerous events with grace and love. I imagine I might also feel differently about those storms if I had experienced significant loss as a result. Luckily, we were never seriously affected. We lost electricity and water, but we managed. On the island, hurricanes and the loss of these “modern” conveniences are more common and people quickly learn to cope. We also did not have to worry about cold temperatures—certainly a plus.

My preparation for Hurricane Sandy included filling both cars with gas, collecting bottled water and nonperishable foods, finding flashlights, gathering firewood, keeping everyone downstairs, and accepting that nature would have its way in that we might have extensive damage to our New Jersey home. The storm

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was about to strike, but I felt ready.

On Monday night at about 9 p.m., the lights went out and we were “powerless” in the modern sense for 10 days. No television, no Internet, no phones, no video games for my four children. We lit candles, retrieved books, and settled down for a slumber party of sorts in the living room. There was some tension as the winds intensified, there were some strange sounds outside, and yet it was so dark that we could not see what was going on. We slept in unconscious bliss, blind to the 45-foot pine that fell into our yard and luckily angled away from our home as it came down.

We approached the first few “powerless” days with excitement. Our family was safe and completely free for family time. We coped and really did enjoy our time together, but we remained anxious about what might be happening elsewhere.

My husband had a very different experience. On Tuesday, he returned to work as a police officer in a town adjoining Newark. He dealt with devastation and looting, the combined results of power loss, flooding, fear of chaos, and lack of resources. Home became a significant sanctuary for him: his body language changed between the time he walked in and the time he rid himself of his uniform.

Humans can be very good at detecting danger, even with very subtle cues, but we are also very good at ignoring it, even when that danger includes potential for extreme violence or devastation.

The fun we were having in our cozy home was heartwarming, but that feeling was no match for the dipping temperatures outside. We built fires in the fireplace and huddled near, but we eventually decided we needed a generator. It took a lot of human help to achieve that goal: we had to track one down, and we had to find an electrician who was willing to connect it to our heating system.

I have to say that the power of human kindness never fails to amaze me. We were able to connect the heat, we had several invitations from “powered” friends to stay at their homes, we were offered meals and received calls of concern. Human kindness is so powerful for inspiring and strengthening the human spirit.

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Of course, human reactions to chaos and disaster can vary; they can involve care, kindness, and compassion as easily as violence, denial, or selfishness. What I found interesting in my own experience was the very present but perhaps subconscious awareness of that tension between the life instinct and the death instinct; the tension between the need to see myself and others as kind, coupled with the real awareness of danger and the need for each person to protect themselves and their loved ones, even if that need requires a “suspension” of kindness.

Being human isn’t easy, but when people can do it well, it is certainly inspiring.

Sincerely yours,

Lysandra Perez-Strumolo

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