Once we were rescued, safe, and at our friends’ house, dry and warm, I found myself in yet another state of shock. The morning of January 11th was not supposed to go this way. I was supposed to be up early and driving to the airport to pick up my childhood friend who was coming into town. I was supposed to be celebrating my mom and dad’s wedding anniversary. I never got to see my friend and I am positive I never wished my parents happy anniversary.
Again, it was time to suck up all my emotions of anger, fear, worry and pure sadness and handle business. It was still early in the morning once we got settled at our friend’s house. I remember sitting at their kitchen counter with a pad of paper, a pen and my phone. Call after call needed to be made. Insurance claim after insurance claim needed to be filed. I didn’t even think about that fact that my children and I were now basically homeless and had lost a good amount of all our possessions. I didn’t realize the severity of what had just taken place and the impact, stress, and heartache it was about to bring to our already disrupted lives.
Our street name was Lovers Lane. It is a well-known street in our area not only because of its location out in the country off a local highway, but also because of its cute name. It definitely seemed meant to be for us when we were buying our little dream property. So when word got around to the news outlets and on social media that Pacheco Creek had overflowed, causing a levee breach that flooded homes in Hollister, California on Lovers Lane, many people immediately connected the boys and I to the flood. The overwhelming support, sincere concern and serious offers of help came rushing in faster than that water that had flooded my home.
Once the water subsided, some friends decided to head out to my house to assess the damage. Not before stopping by a hardware store for rubber boots, gloves, and masks. They were able to 4-wheel their way out to our property and they called to let us know that the damage was pretty bad. No words could really describe the severity though. Later that day we got the okay to meet up with the guys at the house so we drove out to what looked like the aftermath of a hurricane.
The amount of mud that was left after the water receded was indescribable. Unfortunately, that mud was mixed with some other pretty awful and smelly things as well. Mud filled my house. Everything was covered in it. Thick, smelly, disgusting mud filled my vehicles, my home, my barn, my shop, and all of Mike’s stuff. This is what hurt the worst.
Because we had already scheduled our new floors to be installed the week following the flood, I had been putting our belongings in plastic bins and stacking them on the floor in the barn to get stuff out of the way and ready for the install. I had also been doing that to all of Mike’s stuff. His clothes, his police uniforms, his awards, all the memorabilia we had received the past 6 months in his honor… his flags, everything. Those plastic bins were now overturned from the rushing waters that came in and engulfed them. They were covered in mud and smelled horrible.
I could care less about our cars, our dirt bikes, our house, our belongings… but all of my husband’s stuff was ruined. Why?! It felt like I had lost him all over again. All I had left of him, as far as earthly possessions, was now ruined.
At that moment there wasn’t much we could do besides silently trudge through the mud in our rubber boots and stare at what was once our dream home. Lovers Lane didn’t feel like it had much to love anymore.
My amazing friends stepped it into high gear immediately and organized a cleanup crew to be at my house early the next morning. As contradictory as it sounds, day two post flood was beyond amazing and was actually heaven sent.
