Reflections on Hurricane Helene: Gratitude and Heartbreak

I’ve always loved storms—the more dramatic, the better. Ever since I was a little girl, sitting on the front porch with my daddy, watching the rain pour down in sheets and listening to the thunder roll, storms have fascinated me. There’s something about the power of nature that’s thrilling. The anticipation, the way the sky darkens and the wind begins to howl—it feels like a masterpiece in motion.

When I first heard about Hurricane Helene, I felt that familiar excitement. There’s something about a big storm that makes me feel so alive, as if the chaos outside brings a strange calm within me. My autistic daughter, Kat, understands this too. She stood outside in the pre-storm rain for 20 minutes, letting it soak into her skin. It’s like we’re wired the same way—both of us mesmerized by the spectacle of nature.

Of course, my husband, Johnnie, was far more serious about the situation, reminding me that we might lose power or face worse. He was right to be cautious. As much as I love the sensory thrill of storms, there was a looming reality I had to face—four kids to feed, an all-electric home, and the possibility of being without power for who knows how long. So, we prepared. Eight trips to the store, getting everything from glow-in-the-dark bracelets to practical supplies like glow sticks and, yes, cupcakes. I know it may have seemed a bit over the top, but I needed to feel prepared in my own way.

When the storm hit, it wasn’t what we expected. Tropical Storm Helene turned out to be weaker than predicted over here on our side, just a drizzle with a few gusts. We lost power for a while, but in the grand scheme of things, we were safe. 

But in the aftermath of that storm, my heart aches. In the wake of Hurricane Helene, entire cities in North Carolina and Tennessee have been wiped away. Homes are gone. Lives have been lost. Families are still waiting to be rescued. The reality of what could have been hit hard. While I had hoped for the thrill of a big storm, I now find myself incredibly grateful that we were spared. That our storm wasn’t one of destruction.

As I write this, my thoughts are with those who weren’t so fortunate. To the people whose homes and towns were erased, who are struggling to figure out what comes next—I send my deepest condolences. It’s hard to comprehend the scope of the devastation, but I feel the weight of it now. The thrill of storms may be a part of me, but so is the empathy for those suffering in their wake.

I will always love the beauty and power of nature, but I am reminded that not every storm is something to celebrate. Sometimes, it’s about being thankful that we were spared, and offering whatever support we can to those who weren’t.