Strange Survivor's Guilt

I confess that I am still monitoring Hurricane Ian, even though there's not much mystery left.  That radar is mesmerizing--a category 4 storm off the southwest coast of Florida.  I find myself thinking of trips we've taken to that coast; it will be awhile before tourists head back to that area.  I am listening to various weather forecasters.  Right now, I'm listening to Craig Setzer's 5:30ish broadcast where he calls this storm "a generational event."

Last night after class, I checked Facebook to find that many of my friends in Broward county were dealing with tornado warnings and flooding.  I got e-mails from the city of Hollywood advising me to worry about flooding and offering to let me move vehicles to park for free in 2 city garages, but not the ones at the beach, since that barrier island is expected to flood.

Happily, I don't own property in a flood zone anymore.  I think about the motorcycle that sustained severe damage in Hurricane Irma, and we finally got it restored to a shade of its former self--just in time for the post-Christmas flood of 2019, the flood that wasn't forecast, that wasn't tropical, but it took out the motorcycle and the Prius that was parked on the street.

A bit later:

I'm feeling a multitude of feelings, while at the same time not having much focus to write about these feelings, as I toggle back and forth between hurricane coverage and the recorded lecture for my Church History class this week.  Let me see if I can bring this post to a close.

I am feeling an odd sort of survivor's guilt, even though it's not like I had any secret knowledge.  We could see the increasing strength of storms, along with more flooding that was unconnected to storms, and we decided to sell our house.

I spent much of September and October of 2021 when the house was on the market, worried about this kind of hurricane, the kind that would either destroy our house or make everyone remember why they didn't want to buy a house in hurricane country.  Happily, we closed on the sale in January, and I've rarely looked back.

I have this odd guilt this morning, 1000 miles away from that house we sold.  I have a lovely day planned:  going on a walk in the morning once it's warmed up a bit and later in the afternoon or early evening.  I'll do seminary work and have a video chat with my spouse.  I will cook and maybe bake.  I have this spacious 2 bedroom apartment on a day when so many people will be losing everything they own.

I have no idea how to wrap up this post.  It won't wrap up neatly.  There's no way around my guilt, and the people losing everything will need more than I can give them.  I will use my guilt twinges as I enjoy my nice day to remind myself to pray for those in the path of the storm--and there are so many, when we broaden the definition of storm.