I wanted to write a thank you letter but at the same time, many of you have asked about our story or how we’re doing, which sort of evolved into a cliff’s notes version of the past few months. However, even the cliff’s notes turned into about four pages! I tried not to name anyone, and the reason is that we could not have gotten through this without ALL of you. THANK YOU for each and every contribution, in whatever form, you have made to us. While this has been a very challenging time for us it has also been a blessing to see how much people still care for people, and how much you all care for us, many of whom I’ve never met. We love you all and while we could not address everything here we have been impacted by ALL of you and it was your generosity that lifted our spirits when we desperately needed it. You are all answered prayers.
In late August our family was one of thousands impacted by Hurricane Harvey, specifically the flooding in our hometown of Kingwood caused by an overnight release of the Lake Conroe dam. We were home, as were most in our neighborhood that night, as the rain alone was not posing an immediate threat to our neighborhood to the point that leaving seemed more dangerous than staying (leaving was a topic that came and went with the hurricane’s landfall days before). Without warning to residents downstream, the dam was released around 2 am. By 2:30 am our house started flooding very quickly, rising above the outlets just passed 3 am. This is not a political statement. I mention all of this because our kids are our top priority, and their safety and well-being is our highest concern. So the fact that we and hundreds of other responsible parents in our area were home with our kids underlines the setting of that night.
While wading through water throughout my home to shut off the power, gather medicines, family heirlooms, whatever came to mind, an enormous sense of desperation and helplessness came over me as I thought ‘I can’t fix this (myself)’. When I got back upstairs I did all I could think to do, I prayed. I prayed for help and I prayed that we’d get our kids out of there safely as soon as possible. I never expected the outpouring we have since received. Rescue and evacuation teams were already nearby formulating their plans for residents trapped by the rising waters. Multiple friends and family were making calls on our behalf, getting our names on any rescue list they could find. By 11:20 am we were evacuated by volunteer Kingwood residents, the manliest angels ever. By this time the water inside our home was approaching its peak of 34”, our street probably surpassing 7’. As I boarded the boat and looked around at the devastation that had enveloped my home and my neighbors’ homes I was again hit with those feelings that I can’t get through this alone. I knew then I’d have to swallow my pride and pretty much accept any help or assistance offered, something I usually find unnatural and uncomfortable…feelings that endure once the pride is gone. Again, I prayed for help and I prayed that I could accept it as graciously as it was offered.
The boat route took us down the same exact streets my kids are driven every day to their school, only this time was much different. Rushing currents swept down cross-streets, making rescue efforts by small boats nearly impossible. Full size trucks parked along the streets barely peaked out of the water. Brick mailboxes were completely submerged and became victims to rescue boats as captains could not see them. And a route that seemed so innocuous hundreds of school days prior suddenly became a sight few could ever forget. The boat crossed over Kingwood drive and continued uphill north on Forest Garden. Uphill?!!! I’d never noticed (Now I’m fixated on my surrounding topography).
It was a little ways up Forest Garden that we were taken off the boat and were greeted by hundreds (yes, HUNDREDS) of residents and other volunteers, offering dry clothes, a place to shower, food and drinks, and on and on. I was speechless for a block and a half, I couldn’t answer anyone. Finally I managed to tell each of these helpers, these angels, that we had arranged to meet family friends at Deerwood Elementary. As we sat at the school’s front entrance another family approached us, again offering a place to come dry off. It turns out it was a man who works for the same company as myself and who recognized me. Ten minutes off the boat and I already fully realized God was all over this, with His helpers all around, and one way or another we were going to be okay. After a short walk to this man’s house we dried the kids off and were later met by the family we were to meet earlier at Deerwood and with whom we would spend that first night out of our home. We were safe and we were cared for.
Needing a change of scenery for the kids, we arranged a ride out of town the next day to stay with my parents in College Station. The man driving us also has a young daughter, so he gave us a spare car seat and outfitted my kids with shoes and stuffed animals she had donated. As we headed north on Westlake Houston Drive, a busy street we drive daily, I couldn’t get over what I was seeing. Fire trucks from Nebraska, search and rescue officers from Los Angeles, more airboats than I’d seen collectively in my life (love that Cajun Navy), police and other first responders from all over the country, all lined up near our fire station to help with rescue efforts. Again I was speechless. So many helpers who dropped everything to focus on rescuing people they’d never met. It was overwhelming. I felt bad for the man driving because I just sat in the front seat and said about ten words on the trek to Waller, a trip made longer due to flooded highways. There we’d meet his wife who had gone to Bryan the day before with their children.
I’d met this couple a few times through Girl Scouts, swimming, etc. and I knew they were very nice people but I didn’t know them well. As I moved luggage from one van to the other, the wife took my kids inside the gas station. For those angels in Nashville and other far-reaching areas you must know this particular gas station (which will remain nameless as have all my helpers) is more of an experience than a gas station. There are clothes, souvenirs, fresh food, pretty much anything a six year old could want, and of course…clean restrooms. I digress. The wife had taken my six year old son in first and he came out with new flip flops…very nice ones that lit up as he walked, and a bag of rocks! I knew the kids had been through an ordeal, but knowing more generosity would follow I did mention to him that we should not ask for more or take advantage when offered something…in this case he was offered shoes because he had no boys shoes, and yet he negotiated rocks into the deal J. I apologized for his innocent behavior, and pointed out that they’d already given our kids shoes and toys. She smiled and said something that I’ll never forget “Don’t apologize…every kid should have something that is theirs.” It took everything I had not to cry when she said that. Until this point I’d only considered the kids’ safety, not everything else that must be going through their young minds. After that there were no objections as she took the girls in and outfitted them with new lighted flip-flops and stuffed animals. I consider myself blessed and fortunate to have tons of moments and stories like this one from the last few months.
Once we got to my parent’s house my mom opened the front door…suddenly I felt like a homesick seven year old returning home from summer camp. I hugged her and it hit me, we were homeless! Temporarily, but we’d been gone for 24 hours and it sunk in that our house wouldn’t be our home for quite some time. For the first time I was a nomad and I knew that home was more of a state of mind than an address, corny but true. Brooke, Abby and I stayed there until I got the news that the neighborhood was accessible again, and the big kids stayed there until school started.
My brother met me in Waller and drove me back from there, and I stayed with him and his family for several nights in the early cleanup process. I was greeted at my home by a few friends and had prepared myself for the worst, which was good because it was pretty darn bad. The house was full of mud, the power was out so the humidity was trapped inside, a variety of wildlife was found, appliances were uprooted and moved by the water, pots and pans all over, trash turned over and spilled throughout, and the carpet, oh the carpet changed me forever! I’ll never have carpet on a first floor again, even if it’s Everest base camp. Walking around was tough. I realized the photo albums I’d saved from the surface of the water in lower cabinets as I’d walked through that night had more albums underneath them. All of our kid books were ruined, many of which were my own as a kid, just a lot of “stuff” that was more than that to us. Tubs with our kids artwork had been submerged, all the ornaments they’d made throughout their lives, things you just can’t replace…that was the hardest part of going back. But mom always said there is no use crying over spilled milk…or spilled Lake Houston in this case. Dwelling on the “stuff” wasn’t going to make the house a home again. I was fortunate that a church friend/professional photographer was volunteering to take pictures for flooded families to assess inventory and other insurance type needs. He showed up in no time. Once he was done the cleanup began.
As I continue to process this, all the events, all the conversations, the long days, just everything from the past few months, the cleanup just astounds me. Not just the sheer volume of work required, but the open offering of volunteers pouring into our house on day 1 and the weeks to come was surreal. Friends. Family. Friends of friends. Friends of family. Total strangers. I’d estimate that more than 30 people were in my house each of the first few days. We all sorted through the first floor, moving what could be saved upstairs or to tubs to move offsite. I recall feeling a bit embarrassed as I handed a tub full of sports figures to a volunteer to take upstairs…a grown 35 year old man with sports figures in his office. I began to apologize, thinking she might find this a silly exercise, but she cut me off quickly and said “you don’t apologize for anything, please.” That was very comforting, because silly or not to others these were things I enjoy and things that were spared and she respected that. It meant a lot that so many people came into our house and just got to work, and asked what we needed and didn’t question us or judge us they just helped.
We had people taking our clothes and working all kinds of magic to launder them and salvage much of it. On the weekend a group of volunteers from Bryan came to help us and our neighbors. Drywall was cut to 4’, studs were treated again and again, and dehumidifiers and fans were donated. We even had someone truck in his smoker to BBQ meats paid for by his dad who lives in OK but who “wanted to feed people”. The smell of that BBQ on the street was in many ways refreshing and uplifting. The heavy cleanup continued for weeks and honestly still continues, be it in smaller and more manageable increments. Crews from San Antonio worked 7 days a week for weeks on end, refusing to take their optional day of rest each week in order to make our streets and yards cleaner and safer more quickly. They were away from their family that entire time, but were friendly and patient with residents in the neighborhood.
While I was busy with the cleanup I hadn’t noticed a gofundme page had been set up to raise money for us to recover. By the time I noticed it the list was long, filled with co-workers from years ago, friends we haven’t seen in years, coupled with messages of encouragement. It was spiritually uplifting as much as it was financially. Again, just that feeling of not being in this alone and seeing how many people still care about you even if years have gone by without communicating. All along we were also getting care packages and donations from friends but also from strangers who had heard our story and wanted to help. As I’m finally writing this in December I can say we still get letters of encouragement and donations sent to us.
Throughout most of the recovery process we stayed with Brooke’s sister and her husband. For newlyweds to open their home to our circus epitomizes the generosity we’ve received since praying for help as the water rose. All tolled I believe it was 74 nights total away from home before we moved in. Work continues but our house is a home again, and we could not have made it through all of this without all of you. While our home is far along, many others struggle to get started in the rebuild. Most houses in our neighborhood still have studs exposed, as demand for good contractors outweighs the supply. There is also the latent stress and mental struggles that come with an experience like this, and far outlast the physical damage to property. Please keep us, our neighbors, and many others similarly affected in your prayers as the recovery is far from over. Again, thank you all. You have taken what seemed to be a desperate and dark situation and turned it into a restoration in my view of humanity and a journey filled with light and hope. We thank God for hearing our prayers and blessing us with each of you.
God bless you all,
Scott Sabrsula