Part 2.... Read part one "When The Levee Breaks", here
As the sun went down on the day of the flood, I was relieved we were finally dry, in a house that wasn’t flood affected; we were all safe.
We knew the floods were high in the area, but up until that evening we’d been focusing on survival in our own world. We watched some news footage of other areas that night, shocked at how high the water got, and how it was likely to get higher overnight. We heard statistics and stories of rescues, despair and losses, something we continue to hear now, weeks later.
In some cases, the water was almost 3 meters higher than the worst flood on record, covering 100s square kilometres. That’s a hell of a lot of water, many homes thought to be safe from such devastation, like ours, are no longer safe.
1000s of families displaced.
I don’t remember falling asleep the evening of the flood.
The next morning, Tuesday (or flood day +1), we didn’t know if we could even get to our house, let alone if there was still any water inside, and if so, how much. By 9:30am we were around at the house assessing the damage and figuring out clean up.
I guess in a way, it felt like the day before, like a dream. A really bad dream.
The carpets were stinky, wet, and squishy under foot. The mud, the smell, the mess, and the walls that were already starting to warp. Things like towels originally used in attempt to stop the water coming in under doors, now soggy, brown, and heavy. It was very overwhelming.
We didn’t know where to start. Shock and disbelief were all we felt.
It was a huge undertaking we weren’t prepared for, with the added “bonus” that we had no communication with the outside world. Major internet cables were damaged south of us, and local phone towers weren’t working. It would be about a week before communications in our area were back up and running. Not what one needs when there’s a national disaster happening.
We would have rather been available to help others, but we weren’t in that position.
Thankfully, my cousins were there to help begin clearing things out as best we could. We needed to hose out the garage and house, to get the mud out, so it would be safe to walk around. Mud sure is slippery stuff. After the mud was cleared in the garage, we could start moving items out there, and then begin in the inside of the house.
We managed to get the “flood” car started. However, by Wednesday it had died again. It took 6 weeks to get various repairs done on it, including a new CPU, before it was road ready. Thankfully, Dave didn’t give up, he spent countless hours and energy getting the old girl cleaned and running.
Knowing where to start is tricky, and when you’re in shock it’s even harder. At least that’s my experience. If we did start somewhere, it was easy to get distracted by the things found, damaged or lost, to the brown murky water. The first week clearly showed me neither myself, nor Mum, were in a position to make decisions, but through the tears we tried.
There were moments when I walked from room to room in a daze. Not really taking in what had happened, not sure where to start on the mess, and not sure what to feel. Anytime someone asked “what can I do?” it usually ended with either of us crying, just overwhelmed with what tasks lay ahead.
The house has an extension, a storeroom and bathroom built on the back, which can only be entered from outside. I had forgotten about these rooms the first few days of clean up, but when I remembered I checked them out. The water had risen higher than we thought and moved things around. I had items from before I left Australia 20+ years ago out there, such as a box of photos and an old esky filled with my belongings, both wet.
I still haven’t opened them.
The bathroom had a lot of the pool stuff in it which is, well, waterproof, but now it was full of mud, and slippery and yucky. It either had to be cleaned up or thrown out. But to be honest, would you want to use something that had sat in sewer and pesticide water for a day or two? A task just too big for Mum and I to contemplate at first, it would have to wait.
It happened all the time that first week, walk through a room and be reminded of what we missed, what wasn’t put up high, that is now lost to the flood. As we shuffled items from room to room and tried to clean up, completely overwhelmed with the losses, and the amount of work still to be done.
I checked a large wooden box in my room that I thought was waterproof, it was too big to put up high. Inside there was another plastic box, and in that I found about 400 family photos, from back in the day, wet and soggy. Bursting into tears and kicking myself for being so silly as to not check inside that box the morning before the waters rose, Alex took the photos. Gently she peeled them, while they were wet, and placed them all out to dry. Later her colleagues took some home to place with a dehumidifier, around 98% were salvaged.
Photos of Dad, Mum, my grandparents from their younger days, and baby photos of me and my siblings, photos of shows I have played, all saved. That was a good moment. Thanks Alex, J and S.
Anyone that came by, didn’t have the emotional attachment, and they got the job done. Mum and I would bawl at the sight of grandma’s glasses all brown and silted up, whereas someone else would either pick them up and clean them or throw them out, without hesitation or tears. Having folks help did move things along quicker, we are all grateful for those who stopped by and supported us.
Watching the pile of household items on the front lawn grow was heartbreaking; beds, tables, couches, lamps, rugs, TVs, magazines, clothes, washing machine, mattresses, cat beds, carpets and more. And then I look left and right, and my neighbours’ piles are growing too. Devastating. Driving down the streets here, all we saw were piles of families’ lives on their front lawns, damaged, brown and wet.
Thanks to the help of friends, and Mums colleagues, the carpets in the 5 rooms were up by Wednesday afternoon and the rooms were starting to dry out.
Alex’s work colleagues helped us with a lot during that first week. They drove to Bunnings (the local building store) to get packing boxes. They helped us arrange storage for some of our stuff, and then took our stuff there for us. They arranged pallets so we could keep our items off the damp and mouldy cement in the garage. They supported Alex in various ways at work too, no pressure to return to work until she was ready. Overall, they kept calm, focused and supportive, even through our trauma responses and tears.
My classmates stopped by later in the week, once I could get word to them after driving 15 kilometres for some internet and phone calls. Cleaning fridges, washing our clothes and towels, and generally offering support. Every little bit helped 10-fold.
We felt a strong sense of community in those first few days. I finally met the neighbours across the road, the next-door neighbours and I never talked so much as in those early flood days. People would stop by and offer to carry, clean, tidy or just offer an ear for a chat. There were cakes, coffees and teas offered. There were suggestions about how to correctly clean items, how to deal with the insurance, how to cope, how to organise our items. There were heartbreaking stories about experiences of friends, colleagues and folks we didn’t even know.
By talking through our experiences, we could each process that little bit more of our experience and emotions. It was good to get it out in the open. It was difficult but good to hear others talk about their experiences or experiences of people they know.
Our aim was to clear the house so it could start to dry out, and it took about a week to get it (mostly) done. 6 weeks later, there’s still boxes that need going through and items that need cleaning. I have clothes and belongings in 4 different locations, and mould that keeps on keepin’ on.
On Wednesday evening, I had a very strong reaction to the rainstorm rolling in. It started when I first heard thunder from way off. I ran outside to see how it all looked, and I felt this urge to go back to the flood house to check I put everything up high enough in the garage.
I couldn’t stand the thought of losing more.
I had trouble breathing. I was hot under the collar, and I was crying. I think I was rocking back and forward too. Alex took control, helped me calm down and hugged me until the feeling passed. She said later I had a panic attack.
Whatever it was, it was not pleasant.
On the TV that week, I recognized one of my high school teachers being rescued, holding onto the back of a kayak, dragged through very deep brown water to safety. I still can’t find the words to express the emotions when I saw that image.
On Thursday exhaustion, stress and muscle aches were really settling in. I was often lost around the flood house, still trying to make sense of it all and trying to clean up. I lost my shit at someone who made a comment about me overreacting about something mundane like cleaning up some items. I don’t think I have ever yelled at someone like that before in my life, I even scared myself. The anger, which deep down I realise was a feeling of betrayal. It was the first time since the flood I was being judged, and I sure didn’t like it.
Things were tense as it was, and I hit my limit that day. I apologized for my reaction, and I think the person realised they may have overstepped the mark. We got on with cleaning up. I am grateful for their overall support and energy, which continues to this day.
Alex and I celebrated our 2nd wedding anniversary on the Friday after the flood. Looking back, it’s sure been a real whirlwind of a rollercoaster ride. We went out for pizza and us time. Keepin’ it simple is what we do best. One thing’s for sure, our love and relationship has gone from strength to strength during this very testing period.
We still love and care for each other just like 2 years before, and for me, even more so after each experience (good or bad). Alex has been a support, a rock, a guiding star, the light in the dark, the clear road ahead and the hug, smile, chat and love that I needed during these testing times.
On the drive home, the rain got really really heavy. It was a scary moment for us both. I gritted my teeth and got through it with tears in my eyes, I was reminded that rain is no longer something I enjoy the sound, feel or look of.
By the end of that first week, I started to feel terrible around the house. I guess it was always there, but increasingly when I visited the flood house to work on clean up, I’d feel a lump in my throat or something in the pit of my stomach. Alex could feel it too. It felt like the visits were retraumatising us. So, after 6 days of cleaning, tidying, packing, unpacking, crying, repacking, making decisions, sleepless nights, more tears, muscle aches, exhaustion, stress, hugs, a few laughs, coffees and finding another item we connected with wet, I decided I would take a break from the house. Alex too.
I only wish I could have gotten Mum to take a break after the first week.
It was a tough no sleep, high stress week, becoming increasingly hard to hear or see Mum upset. She’d financed and bought the house on her own, furnished it the way she wanted, and recently we did some home renovations like painting and curtains. It was just starting to get comfy for us all, and to have that connection with each other and the house disrupted was hard. Seeing Mum distraught, upset, frustrated, exhausted, confused, and hurt was difficult to see and feel.
I understand Mum isn’t someone who relaxes easily, I learnt that from her, and part of her way of processing what happened was to keep busy. We all react differently to the experiences around us, another reminder to me, to let those do what they feel they need to do to move forward.
During that first week or so, there were a lot of emotions, intense feelings and adjustments. It would take some time for me to process what happened, and what sense I made of it all.
I knew there were people volunteering, communities getting together arranging food, shelter, transport and more for those who were evacuated, flooded out or lost their homes. I didn’t feel great that I couldn’t be very active supporting others, but I knew I wanted to help, if I could.
The day after the flood we had to register at the local evacuation centre, and as I walked back outside, I saw a woman in the car park who had her cat in her car, her car was packed full of stuff too. I didn’t hesitate, I walked up and asked if she needed anything for her cat. She needed food.
We talked a bit more, she was stranded, trying to head north but was stuck because the roads were closed. She followed Alex and I to Sophie’s house and we gave her a bag of dry and some wet food too.
Her smile was all the thanks I needed.
I felt joy that I was able to give back to someone who was flood affected. It was a small gesture, but it meant the world to her and her cat, and it meant the world to me at the time.
Incredibly, the Tuesday ended with a smile. With everything around us in turmoil and chaos, and all the feelings of helplessness and the trauma, every moment, no matter how small, that provided a shimmer of good and hope, was something to hold on to, and something to grow with.
