There are some weeks that divide your life into a before and an after.
Before the storm.
And after.
This past week was one of those weeks for our family.
A tornado swept through Mahoning County, Ohio, leaving behind a path of destruction that included our home.
Even typing those words feels surreal.
Our home.
The place where we have raised our kids. The place where we have celebrated birthdays and graduations and holidays. The place where we have argued and laughed and cried and made dinners and folded endless piles of laundry.
The place where we are supposed to feel safe.
In a matter of minutes, everything changed.
The Kind of Thing You Never Think Will Happen to You
The strange thing is, when the tornado sirens started going off, I wasn’t even home.
I was shopping at Dick’s Sporting Goods.
One minute, I was doing something completely ordinary. Walking through a store, probably thinking about whatever was next on my to-do list.
And the next, tornado sirens were sounding and we were being told we had to stay inside the store and wait out the storm.
Chris and Branden were at home with the dogs.
And I was stuck somewhere else.
There is a very particular kind of fear that comes with knowing severe weather is moving through the area where your family is, while you are physically unable to get to them.
All I could do was wait.
Wait for the storm to pass.
Wait for updates.
Wait to know that everyone I loved was okay.
Meanwhile, at home, Chris and Branden were riding out the storm with our dogs, who were absolutely petrified.
I think that is one of the details I will always remember about that day.
The fear.
The helplessness.
The waiting.
And then, eventually, seeing what the storm had left behind.
We have all watched severe weather coverage on television.
We have seen the videos.
We have looked at pictures of trees ripped from the ground and homes damaged by storms and thought about how terrifying it must have been for the people who lived there.
But there is something completely different about coming home and realizing that this time, those pictures are of your house.
There is something different about seeing broken glass scattered across the floor.
About looking at the side of your home and seeing siding ripped away.
About walking into your backyard and barely recognizing it.
Trees that had stood for decades were snapped like twigs.
One was completely uprooted.
Another came crashing down onto our home.
Our windows were broken. Our house was damaged. Our yard was destroyed.
The covered porch where we have spent countless hours suddenly looked like something from a disaster movie.
Except it wasn’t a movie.
It was our house.
Our life.
The Strange Thing About Surviving Something Scary
The first thing everyone says is, “Thank God you’re okay.”
And they are right.
We are okay.
Chris and Branden are okay.
The dogs are okay.
I am okay.
Our family is safe.
And I cannot begin to express how grateful I am for that.
But I also think there is room to talk about the complicated emotions that come after something like this.
Because gratitude and devastation can exist at the same time.
You can know that things could have been so much worse and still cry when you look at your home.
You can feel incredibly lucky and completely overwhelmed.
You can be thankful that everyone you love is safe while simultaneously wondering how in the world you are going to put everything back together again.
Motherhood has taught me that two things can be true at once.
This week has reminded me of that over and over again.
Home Is More Than a House
I think this has been one of the hardest parts for me.
I know a house is technically just a structure.
Walls.
Windows.
A roof.
Siding.
Things that can be repaired and replaced.
But when you’re a mother, home feels like so much more than that.
Home is where your children grow up.
It is where you celebrate birthdays and graduations and Christmas mornings.
It is where you leave shoes sitting by the door even though you have asked everyone approximately 4,000 times to put them away.
It is where the dogs bark at absolutely nothing.
It is where your family gathers at the end of the day.
It is where you create the tiny, ordinary moments that somehow become the memories you treasure most.
And seeing that place damaged is incredibly emotional.
Especially knowing that while I was standing inside a sporting goods store waiting for the storm to pass, the people and animals I love most were inside that house.
I keep coming back to that.
How quickly an ordinary day became something we will probably talk about for the rest of our lives.
Then Comes the Aftermath
Something I don’t think people talk about enough is what happens after the storm passes.
The adrenaline eventually wears off.
The weather alerts stop lighting up your phone.
And then you are left standing in the middle of the mess.
There are phone calls to make.
Insurance claims to file.
Contractors to contact.
Trees to remove.
Glass to clean up.
Damage to document.
Decisions to make.
And somehow, normal life doesn’t stop while you are doing any of it.
There are still children who need you.
Dogs who need taken care of.
Laundry that somehow continues to multiply.
Work.
Appointments.
Meals.
Responsibilities.
Motherhood has a funny way of continuing even when your entire world feels like it has been turned upside down.
I Keep Thinking About the Trees
Maybe this sounds strange, but I keep thinking about the trees.
The enormous trees that surrounded our home.
Trees that had probably been standing there longer than I have been alive.
And in minutes, they were uprooted, split apart and thrown across our yard and into our home.
There is something incredibly humbling about seeing the power of nature that close.
We spend so much of our lives planning.
We make schedules.
We set goals.
We worry about things that might happen six months from now.
We stress over deadlines and bills and whether we remembered to respond to an email.
And then something like this happens.
Suddenly, everything becomes very simple.
Is my family safe?
That is the question.
That is all that matters.
The Things I Will Remember
I know that eventually the trees will be removed.
The windows will be replaced.
The siding will be repaired.
Our home will be put back together.
Someday, I will probably look at these pictures and have a hard time believing this actually happened.
But I also know there are things about this week I will never forget.
I will never forget standing inside Dick’s Sporting Goods while tornado sirens sounded, knowing I couldn’t get home to my family.
I will never forget thinking about Chris and Branden inside our house with two terrified dogs.
I will never forget seeing the destruction for the first time.
I will never forget looking around at my family and realizing how differently this story could have ended.
And I will never forget the people who showed up.
Because if there is one beautiful thing that can come from the absolute worst moments, it is seeing people at their very best.
The calls.
The texts.
The offers to help.
The people checking in.
The people willing to show up when everything feels completely overwhelming.
Those are the things you remember, too.
We Are Still Here
This week has been scary.
Exhausting.
Overwhelming.
Emotional.
And I think we are still processing everything that happened.
Maybe we will be for a while.
But this morning, I woke up.
My family was here.
My kids were here.
Chris was here.
The dogs were here.
Our home is damaged.
Our yard looks completely different.
There is a long road of cleanup and repairs ahead of us.
But we are still here.
And right now, that feels like everything.
I have spent a lot of time lately writing about this season of motherhood. About children growing up. About turning 40. About figuring out who I am now and what I want the next chapter of my life to look like.
This week gave me a reminder I never asked for.
Life is incredibly fragile.
The ordinary days we complain about are not promised to us.
The messy house.
The loud kids.
The dogs barking.
The laundry.
The chaos.
The people we love sitting safely under the same roof.
Maybe that is the whole point.
Maybe the ordinary days are the good days.
And sometimes it takes a storm to remind us.
Our family is safe.
We are together.
We are still here.
And today, that is more than enough.
