I heard at work today that some people think that flood victims are making out well because the government is going to buy them new flooring and furniture.
It made me cry to think that people could be so cold and I wanted to share my flood story.
We were hit with the first release of water in the early morning hours of April 13 with 8Ē of water in our basement. We had no idea how high the water was going to get so we had an hour to pack what we could as a crew of volunteers sandbagged where the river was pouring into our yard. We lost our furnace, hot water heater and sewer and road access to our house and have not lived at home since. We canoed in whenever we felt it was safe to bring out mementos from the house and put in many pumps and build dikes.
My husband went out before work, after work, before bed and in the middle of the night to do what he could.We fought hard and thought we were winning until the next big release when our shop full of vehicles, a boat, tractor, lawn mower and my sons tools were all lost along with the entire yard.
Our basement soon filled to the top, along with our garage. In desperation we canoed in when it wasnít safe and moved the items on the main floor even higher.
When the next big release came the main floor filled as high as the dining room table. Again we risked our lives to salvage what we could. It was scary because the house was moaning and groaning from the force of the water. We feared for our lives twice in the rushing current but thankfully the Lord brought us through.
Are we making out well?
The Provincial Disaster Assistance Program has a cap of $240,000. That may not cover the repairs to the house. It does not cover anything but those things considered essential so it wonít cover any collections or hobby tools or supplies. It doesnít cover musical instruments. It doesnít cover ten years of yard work planting a shelter belt, having trees moved from our farm, three large perennial beds, our shop and its contents, our patio furniture and bbq, the list goes on and on.
Most importantly, it doesnít cover anything for the sorrow. Do you know what itís like to wonder if youíll ever go home, living in limbo wondering when and how it will end and what will become of us?
Do you know what itís like to tell your little grandson that we canít go to grandmaís house and he wonít be able to play with his toys or sleep on his bunk bed anymore? How do you make a two and a half year old understand that life can be so cruel for no reason?
Do you know what itís like to tell your daughter, whose one request was a porcelain doll she was given when she was three, that you canít find it? And later tell her that you did find it, but that it fell apart in your hands after being submerged in water for a week?
Do you know what itís like to tell your son that the tools he was accumulating to start his own business are gone and that there is no compensation? Or to tell your daughter that you didnít find her photo album with the pictures of her newborn baby until it was too late?
Do you know what its like to pick up the first collectible carousel horse your husband gave you and have it crumble in your hands? Or to tell your mom that the cabinet that your great grandpa built is destroyed?
Do you know what itís like to look around the house and remember the love and laughter you shared there and wonder if youíll ever feel that again.
Are we making out well?
Our house was our retirement fund. Everything we made farming for 25 years was tied up in our property, and now itís gone. I am so tired of breathing, seeing and dreaming flood. Our lives are consumed by it. I am sick of being told that our damaged treasures are not covered and are not a necessity. It feels like we have both worked two jobs most of our lives for nothing.
Penny L. Deren