The Envelope

They were strangers in the storm. Yet in the aftermath of Hurricane Helene, they were brought together for a reason

- By VALERIE WRIGHT Boiling Springs, South Carolina

I awoke that warm Sunday morning alone and in complete silence. Three days after Hurricane Helene ripped through northwestern South Carolina, there was still no power. I guess you don't normally register the ambient sounds of appliances—the soft whoosh of the air conditioner, the low hum of the fridge, the familiarity of it all. This eerie silence just magnified my sense of isolation. Still, no absence loomed greater than my husband's. He'd died suddenly of a brain stem stroke three years earlier. In our nearly 47 years of marriage, Verne and I had gone through many storms together.

Without coffee, I moved in slow motion. I peered out the window. My house had been spared any major damage, but the street was littered with branches and debris. I hadn’t ventured outside to survey the damage, and without cable, internet and cell service, I really didn’t understand the full devastation the Cat 4 storm had wrought. I knew it was bad, but I didn't know quite what to do.

Verne would have known. He was an electrical engineer. We had spent half of our married life in Florida and ridden out many a storm. It almost got to be fun. His quiet confidence was all I needed. I was no slouch either. I'd been a critical care nurse and responded to many emergencies. Not much fazed either one of us. Together we were even stronger. His absence today seemed to sap my confidence.

Oh, Verne...

Verne always kept an envelope with a few hundred dollars in cash stashed away for an emergency. I still had an emergency envelope put safely in a drawer. Not that I needed the money right now, but just thinking of the envelope made me remember that Verne had always had a plan, was always ready.