METAMORPHOSIS: Building the Dome of a Home

arrange for transportation to the neighborhoods. Frustration is inevitable, but rather than
frantically pace in a hot, humid self-imposed prison, I choose to enhance my emotional well-being
by resting in an air-conditioned place complete with amenities. Instead of aimlessly pacing, I surf
the internet eager for the first trickling of pictures and reports. The Pensacola News Journal does
the community a wonderful service by allowing anyone to post digital pictures of the area on its
web site. I also have angels on line who converse with me on our web site's forum.
www.domeofahome.com I cannot express how much their supportive comments boost my
morale.
Seventh stage: The storm has dissipated and now we assess the damage. In horror, we try to
absorb the mangled messes we see. We need to report back to our friends about the status of
their homes. After an interminable excursion of two miles to our home, we give our home a
cursory once over from outside. Doors, windows, any breaches in the structure? Landscaping
and the pool are expected casualties once again. No surprises there. It's time to find a way into
the home. Did the ladder we left for re-entry get swept away? That's a yes. Okay, let's find an
orphaned ladder somewhere in this debris and get into the house. The humid heat is sweltering,
and the sun's intense light focuses onto our unwelcoming backs. Let's get into the house and
drink some of that water I collected during the preparation stage. We manage to get into the
house, turn up our noses at the distinct smell of an abandoned beach house, and douse
ourselves inside and out with water. We look around, make a general list of immediate concerns,
and tell ourselves it could be much worse. It is definitely lemonade time. We count our blessings
and fret over how much worse it could have been. We have to take the lemons and make
lemonade. We have to – it is vital for our emotional survival. Somehow the situation seems less
daunting when we compare it to what could've been.
After resting a bit at the house, we walk the neighborhoods with pen in hand. Some neighbors
have traveled hundreds of miles and won't be back for a while. We need to report to them; the
unknown is the worst. You can't make a game plan until you know what needs to be done. And
having a game plan is also an essential element of emotional survival. What I find interesting and
disturbing is that I can pass by a damaged home for months and not really see it. Then, one day,
I am walking by and I actually see the ruined building. I am shocked that I hadn't noticed before.
My theory is that I can only absorb so much devastation at one time. As I digest my first helping,
more information can be assimilated.
Eighth stage: Weeks later,
the power is on and repairs
can begin in earnest. Well,
if we had our insurance
claim payment and could
find laborers, we could
begin. Frustration
overwhelms us as we want-
no need - to start the repair
process, yet cannot. At this
point, I am usually ready to
bail out. I have had enough,
I am ready to sell and could
care less if I never see a
beach again in my life. I am
in the middle of a nervous
breakdown and am ready to
hide from it all. I want to run
away and never return. I
want it to be a chapter in a
book that I incinerate. I cannot keep doing this, it is absolutely insane. What the bleep do we
think we are doing? I am so traumatized that I am numb….almost. Not quite detached enough to
be obliviously unaware of my fragile state of mind.
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