Six-month Ian check-in with Sanibel's Becky Monroe
Note: In this space in November, Sanibel resident Becky Monroe reflected on her life in the months right after Hurricane Ian. Here's her update.
It has been six months since Hurricane Ian struck my home and devastated our island. Six months later, and out of the 30-some homes on our street, fewer than half are inhabitable and two families are living in RV trailers parked on their driveways.
Our street ‒ once known as "the fun one" ‒ is now sprinkled with garbage dumpsters and porta-potties as many of the ground level homes sit gutted waiting on permits, insurance claims and city inspections.
One home has already been demolished.
The island in many ways is a “ghost town under construction.” Every day I bike or walk and am constantly reminded of what we lost. Most of the debris, which was absolutely mountainous at times, is cleared, but now we see the empty condos, the vacant lots, the gutted homes and closed businesses.
Six months later and I feel as though my pain and sadness are more awake. In the beginning, we were in panic mode ‒ driven by adrenaline and fear. There was no time for tears. Long, tiring days of driving in traffic, boating to our home, mopping sludge and picking through our personal belongings to salvage what we could. Those days are truly all a blur.
Today, the sludge can still be found in yards, on things we failed to clean well, but the panic and the adrenaline have left and reality has set in.
Most of our realities consist of battling with insurance companies. The stark realization that what we thought would be covered by insurance is not. Seeking out contractors to build back whatever was lost from pools to ground-level storage to remodeling homes or having to build new ones. There doesn’t seem to be a house or condo on this island that doesn’t need something done to it.
There used to be this constant gas blower noise of all the landscapers; now it's the constant noise of roofs being installed, trees being chain-sawed down, or truck backup alarms.
More: Sanibel reality check: Displaced businesses, orphaned trombones and debris fields
Before Ian, whenever I was coming back on the island around 3:30 or 4 p.m., I would see this long line of cars leaving, a few contractors, but mostly day-trippers enjoying our island. Now, that long line is nearly ALL contractors here to help rebuild people’s lives.
And each time I cross the causeway and see the metal sheathings being driven down and the boulders placed to make it more resilient, I am reminded both of hope and how very powerful Ian was.
I think one of the most overwhelming realities of a Cat 4 hurricane is its vastness. Most of the time when tragedy strikes, it is small and personal. It affects a person or a family. Ian took lives, changed lives, ruined lives of thousands of people. It is as though, while the hurricane was here and gone in 24 hours, its damage both physical and emotional will remain for years to come. It is nearly unbearable to wrap your head around.
And while the people of Southwest Florida grapple with the everlasting challenges of Ian, the rest of the world goes on and believes we do too with business as usual. That, too, is hard to swallow. So many friends asking why they can’t find condos to rent on Sanibel or why their favorite establishment is closed. Many thought that once we moved home and a few places on the island re-opened, life was fine again.
Life is anything but fine these days.
We get our mail under a tent (though a million times better than driving an hour each way to get it). We do our banking in a trailer. And even still, we are grateful for it all.
I am sure this can be said about Fort Myers Beach and Pine Island, too, but I speak only for my island when I say how immensely resilient our community is. How industrious our neighbors are. When contractors are hard to find, they do the work they can themselves. Seventy-, 80-year-old beings raking debris, pounding nails, hauling furniture.
There is so much pride and camaraderie on our island. We are well aware of the paradise we were lucky to call home and we all have every intention of seeing it be that again.
There have been numerous re-openings of restaurants on the island and those are probably the happiest events since Ian. Each time an establishment re-opens, everyone is there to support them. Each time a place opens up, there is a stronger sense of normalcy and normalcy gets us through. We have been to so many openings and the feeling of seeing familiar faces of bartenders and staff and owners ‒ well, you feel like you are back home and for a few hours, you get to forget everything else.
There is a new closeness to the island residents, too. While always a friendly place, now when we sit at the bar and meet new people, the conversation starts with, “Do you live on-island?” From there, it is all about the damage and the recovery, insurance, permits, etc. Going through this tragedy has created a bond for all of us and an open door into each other’s lives.
One thing I feel that is so important to emphasize is that no matter how awful anyone had it on island, they always reiterate how lucky they are. Lucky they survived. Lucky their home is still standing. Lucky they can rebuild. Lucky they were able to save something special to them.
No one needs to be reminded of their luck ‒ not here on Sanibel.
My husband and I are incredibly lucky. Our new, elevated home stood neck-to-neck with Ian. We are so fortunate and I am reminded of that every single day when my two next-door neighbors are still not back living here and our neighbors across the street live in their trailer ‒ for now.
Our neighborhood has grown incredibly close, first through an all-women group text that kept us all sane those first few months and now that keeps us getting together. Ian took a lot away, but it is also gave us gifts that we will cherish for years to come, like new friendships.
We plan parties, beach days (even amidst red tide and hundreds of dead fish on the beach!). We share resources. Ian reminded many of us of the importance of neighbors and community.
We had friends live with us for more than two months as their home was being fixed. We are not the only ones. So many people have been sharing homes ‒ extending whatever they have to help others. Maybe it is poetic justice or simply irony, but tragedy brings out the best in others.
It is tough to drive East Gulf to West Gulf and see what Ian did The lost condo buildings, the demolished homes, and the loss of all the lush, green tropical landscape that made our island a special and beautiful sanctuary.
Change at any time is difficult, but forced change from a natural disaster is a gut-wrenching blow that has left us all still reeling months after it passed.
About a month ago, seemingly out of the blue, a brand new restaurant opened. Rosalita's, a Tex-Mex boutique chain out of St. Louis, took over what was 400 Rabbits on Rabbit Road.
We went with friends one night soon after the opening and it was packed with islanders. There was something unique about this event because it was not a “re-opening” like so many of the others. And while it was in a building we all knew well, the business itself was brand new.
There was a different buzz that night. I couldn’t help but notice it: this excitement for something different, this hope for something we hadn’t heard of.
By the time the night ended and we had talked to other friends who had come to try the new place, I could feel this sigh of relief in some way. Perhaps change doesn’t have to be so hard. Perhaps there was something positive about it. Like a new restaurant on the island, other new and positive things will blossom out of this disaster.
Sanibel will never be the same. The landscape itself is forever changed. Many businesses and residents will not return, but we cannot give up on our paradise. We need to embrace the possibility of wonderful things to come and from there, new beautiful memories to be made.
Thank you.
I also want to add that there have been so many individuals who came from all over the states to help Sanibel. The sacrifices strangers have made to make our island whole again renews my faith in humankind. To watch hundreds of people get in the mangroves and the waters handpicking out garbage and sofas and hot water heaters and so many other things, it has been an impressive and tireless effort by so many.
I hope they know how thankful we all are.
This article originally appeared on Fort Myers News-Press: When the 'ghost town under construction' is your island hometown: Sanibel
