All good parents want to keep their children safe. Last May, I had a two month old and felt no different. However, I found myself especially uneasy and terrified by the uncharacteristically stormy weather we had in South Texas.
I’ve always loved a good storm. The sound of rain was therapeutic. Lightening and thunder confirmed I was in for great baking weather, pajama wearing, and deep sleep. But last spring, I watched water levels rise and anxiously listened to weather reports on TV. I was frantic each time my phone sounded alarms that tornadoes were active in our area. Several nights, I sat with my son in the hallway, praying the weather would pass and that our family would stay safe.
It was under these circumstances that my husband’s best friend was getting married in San Antonio. We hadn’t taken our newborn on a road trip, and I didn’t intend to start when the weather was so unstable. My husband, however, was determined to be at his friend’s wedding. Despite my concerns, we were taking our first road trip as a party of three.
We checked into a hotel on the River Walk and grabbed a quick bite to eat before making our way to rehearsal. Downtown San Antonio was beginning to flood. The wind was ripping. The rain poured.
That evening, we got back to our hotel on the River Walk and settled in for the night. The storm was raging again outside. My son slept on my side of the bed. I was relieved our travel day was over and that it was time to rest safe and sound.
However, that morning, around 3:00am, we woke to our hotel’s sirens blaring. I instinctively jumped out of bed, scooped my baby into my arms, slid on my shoes, and raced out to evacuate like the alarm was prompting us to do. The emergency lights in the hall were flashing. My son was awake, but didn’t cry. I hurried down the hall with my husband behind me, flying down the first stairwell I saw. We were being instructed to head to the basement. My heart raced in terror. I felt sick. It was storming outside, and we couldn’t help but wonder if a tornado was headed our way. Or was it severe flooding? We were staying on the River Walk. Were we evacuating to the basement only to be less safe than we were in our room?
I was so scared. But not for myself. I was desperate to protect my son and didn’t know how.
When we arrived in the basement, two men told us there was a false alarm and that we should head back to our rooms. We returned, but the alarms continued sounding in the halls and in our room. By this point, all the stairwells were packed full of people. We told them it was a false alarm, but they didn’t believe us. We wondered if we should go back to the basement. Was the information we got correct?
As time passed, my panic grew. Something was clearly going on. My imagination ran wild. My husband called down to the front desk. They assured us it was a false alarm. The sirens continued. An hour passed. Then two. I was desperate. I was frantic. I called the newspaper to see if I could get insights into what was going on. We called emergency support. Finally, after nearly two and a half hours, the alarms turned off.
In the morning, we learned that the alarms were, in fact, false. However, due to a technical problem caused by the storm, the sirens on our floor could not be turned off. The hotel was apologetic for the inconvenience. They offered us free beverages at a snack shop. It was there I learned the heartbreaking news that, although we were safe, Wimberley was hit with a horrific and historic flood. We didn’t know details, but learned several families from Corpus Christi who were vacationing in Wimberely were missing, having been literally ripped apart.
Later that day, we attended our friend’s wedding and ironically, enjoyed beautiful weather. The talk of the party was everyone’s crazy night at the hotel. Then, before the storms started back up, we hurried home with more rain, black clouds, and threats of tornadoes following in our rear view mirror.
Memorial Day weekend 2015 continues to disturb me. I am haunted by the knowledge that, although our family stayed safe, the McComb, Charba and Carey families did not. My heart breaks for the lives lost and for those who continue to grieve. My soul is sick for having had a small taste of the fierce, desperate, and urgent need to protect my child, but feeling powerless to do so. I am thankful my experience was only a fear, and so sad for those families’ worst nightmare realized.
This Memorial Day weekend, and many times over, I’m thankful that my family’s story isn’t much of one. I thank God we stayed safe.
