PHRAGMENTS OF PHYLLIS: Time to breathe | Opinion, columns and letters from North Augusta

I am sitting at this moment in a beautiful kitchen in an exquisite house overlooking the sea.

I don’t tell you this to make you jealous, but to remind you that after the storm there is often a calm that seems so sweet because of what we have been through.

As some of you may remember, my husband and I have been members of a couples bridge group for about 40 years. In fact, five of the six couples were together the entire time in this group. The sixth couple came to us after the death of one of our members almost two years ago, and the previous couple came to us after another long-time member couple left for professional reasons more than ten years ago.

(That being said, I’m trying to decide how old you have to be before you’re not shocked by the deaths of your closest contemporaries. In the last three weeks I’ve lost the first friend I made after moving to South Carolina and one Friend I grew up with, went to school and church with, the former, Patsy Parks, was a friend of the Welcome Wagon lady in 1977. When the woman visited me, I was living here alone with my two cats, while Tom was getting his cat ready Thesis. This “greeter” noticed the cats and said, “You need to meet Patsy too” – as if Patsy saved those first few weeks. We became Mac’s (our son) godparents and I ended up teaching in Mead Hall, where Patsy was a kindergarten teacher for a long time. I haven’t seen her much lately, but the fact that she was there always comforted me. Then my childhood friend named Steve Oliver died. I haven’t had him for 50 years seen, but he was a big part of my youth. It’s funny what you remember during these times. Finally, when we were in high school, Steve told me for a long time that he thought I was “stuck,” but after getting to know me, he realized I was just shy and a bit insecure.)

These deaths following Hurricane Helene and its aftermath definitely brought me down.

We’ve all been through so much lately. As I drive through the city the destruction is devastating. Yes, my family was lucky. But even with minimal damage, I am reminded at every turn of how far we still have to go. We have a pile of tree waste six feet tall and 15 feet wide in our yard. Almost all of our neighbors have similar damage, some with more serious damage to their homes and cars. Added to this is the time without electricity and/or internet (some are still on board). Who knows when things will get better.

My relief trip to Greenville didn’t particularly lift my spirits. Their devastation was comparable to ours. And our respective local governments are working feverishly to pick up all the debris left in Helene’s wake, but it will likely be months before many of us can look at a fully cleared street and yard. (And as I watched my granddaughter learn to adapt to her current condition with a badly broken leg, I just wanted to fix things for her.)

With all of this in my recent past, I found it difficult to get excited about the beach this time. But now that I’m here with few commitments for the next few days, I can stop focusing on what we’ve all been through and look at all the wonderful things that happened when Helene resigned and we started to get our lives back to normal.

How many stories of extraordinary kindness have you heard in the last few weeks. Especially in my own life, we were offered dinner by friends and family. The power line workers were incredibly considerate. Neighbors helped clear streets and driveways. Along with the stories of death and destruction in the Asheville area, there were also other stories of people providing food, shelter, a kind word, a smile and a break to let someone pass on the streets going through so much Vegetation was blocked.

It reminds me of Fred Rogers’ comment to his mother in a time of disaster. She said, “Look for the helpers.”

Yes, there are always people who want to help and that gives me hope.

Maybe now I can calm my nerves and really enjoy my time at the beach.