This weekend has been filled with all the feels and I mean ALL of them. After a very full week of stained glass we landed upon the one year anniversary of Helene, an historic natural disaster. I was not planning to see videos and pictures of the aftermath I had never seen. My FB feed was full of new to me footage. I had not seen much of the damage because I was in the mountains so much and I had no cell service. When in Huntersville I was focused on collecting the supplies you and many others sent to our home and hauling them to the mountains every few days. While I am aware of the aftermath I had not seen the real time flooding. I walked through the trauma all over again because much of it was new to me. It has shaken me.

Yesterday we went to the town square that held daily meetings and announcements for weeks following Helene. The square was where we found those understanding our emotions and also where we found supplies, resources and advice. The town square represented hope and recovery.

Yesterday we walked among strangers who silently understood. We didn’t need to speak. Those with whom we locked eyes, saw the grief, the gratitude and the hope. We sang and swayed to live music, visited the on site counseling as well as free fairy hair from Mountain Fairy Hair, free face painters, free ice cream from The Hop and free balloon artists. We ended the day with a couple of my besties (I found because of Helene) for chili, my homemade apple pie and a crazy competitive game of Apples to Apples.

This morning we were greeters at our home church in Asheville, House of Mercy, Asheville. It was good to be among those we bonded with post Helene. We all understood the spectrum of emotions flowing from the waters of Helene. We embraced, we held tightly and our pastor reminded us that when we walk through the suffering together we find love. His words rang true with me. I found love and I worshipped with people I love, trust and depend upon.

This afternoon our little neighborhood gathered for our annual fall picnic under a gazebo that required repairs following Helene. We expressed our gratitude for the larger community, YOU, who answered my calls for help and supplies in those immediate weeks. We were reminded of the horrific coffee Johnny attempted to make until you sent French Presses. We remembered the crazy meals we ate when we had to cook the last of the safe perishables in our refrigerators. We remembered the farm fresh unwashed eggs you supplied which needed no refrigeration and provided protein rich foods for us for weeks. We also learned how to take each others leftovers home instead of taking our own uneaten food home. After we ate, each of us filled our to go boxes with full meals for those unable to come as well as each other.

Helene brought so much in so many ways. She destroyed our land, homes and many livelihoods. What we have witnessed in the recovery is determination, resilience and love.

We are rising from the waters that tried to drown us. We will recover… better, smarter and stronger because we do it together.

What a weird time. Fall Craft week for me was weird. I was distracted, never found my groove and actually gave up on the last piece I was working on. I think my head was full of the horror that struck WNC on Sept 27th.

Last year we went to Ingles and bought a ton of perishables as did everyone in line around us. I came home and made a huge pot of chili. It’s worth repeating, if you have any chance of losing water and the ability to flush toilets, eating chili for days (we reheated it in the flattop) is a HORRIBLE idea! We drove around Montreat to see the water levels and headed home. We had NO idea. I remember putting my phone on charge around 10 pm because the news said we might lose power. Neighbors a half mile from us were under mandatory evacuations. Still… no CLUE what was headed our way.

Tonight we are facing another storm and we are being warned to prepare. It doesn’t take much to rattle us and our community. Today we went to the grocery store and stocked up on water, batteries and protein heavy soups. I made sure we have plenty of peanut butter crackers, granola bars and farm fresh unwashed eggs that will be good left out. I was at Walmart tonight and the cashier told me the trends today are exactly like Sept 26th. An early evening surge of shoppers and a run on items preparing for power loss. Is it because hurricanes are brewing or is it PTSD? Both.

Everywhere we went today people were talking about the weather, wishing people luck and safety. We don’t take a storm of any magnitude lightly. One lady told me that her FEMA money JUST came through this week. This! This is why we are fed up, displaced and surrounded by debris. The road to our home still has one home split in half and perched in the creek and one home leaning in a ditch. Many have been condemned and sit abandoned and overgrown. One condemed home was finally leveled last week and the debris hauled away. One home under repair has a camper behind it where the family is temporarily living. Somewhere there are people who called those places homes. Where are they? Did they make it to higher ground? Was their insurance enough to cover any part of their loss? Did FEMA come through for them or is FEMA holding out on them?

There are so many stories on all spectrums. Those who lost everything, those who lost nothing and everything in between. It has taken me a full year to admit out loud my life is better post Helene. In the recovery I saw genuine and raw humanity. I saw those in need and many of you fulfilling the tangible things my neighbors needed. I saw the goodness of strangers. I found people I now call my best friends. A couple of them are coming over for dinner tomorrow night. I’m making chili because I’m turning the page on Helene, shoving it in her face and turning the page on the last year. It’s time for a new chapter.

We have more heart. We are stronger. We will survive.

Last September I was in my crafty world of Adult Craft Week finishing my stained glass masterpiece. It was raining. It was raining a lot. They warned us a storm was coming. We half-ass prepared.

And Hurricane Helene.

She came, she went and she spared nothing. We did not know how much our life would change. Our home was spared. Our eyes remain traumatized by the sights and our ears are traumatized by the sounds. The days, weeks and months that followed have been filled with survival, gratitude, empathy and down right raw humanity.

We are 8 months post Helene. Reminders of the destruction are everywhere. This week I watched earthmovers crawl through our creek clearing and cleaning debris. A crazy looking creek crawler picked it up, loaded it and walked it out of the creek. I met a couple who lives along the creek. It’s been their home over 40 years. Her grandmother, who lived in Ridgecrest, told stories of the 1916 flood. She had never grasped the images her grandmother spoke of, animals, rooftops and entire homes rushing downhill. When warnings of a storm were made, she recalled the stories her grandmother had told her. She wasn’t taking any chances. They collected as much as they could, moved things to beds and got the heck out of dodge on Wednesday.

And Hurricane Helene.

They returned home Friday afternoon after Helene unleashed hell. The couple’s home suffered tragic damage. They had to leave for 4 months while everything in their home 4’ and below was cut out and replaced. They moved what they could salvage to storage. Then it was threatened by the nearby wildfires. They shrugged their shoulders, looked at each other and said they continued to remain thankful they survived.

I asked about insurance. Nope, no help. I asked about FEMA, nope no help. They were offered a buy out, but it wouldn’t cover finding somewhere else in Black Mountain. They were determined to stay, in the home they raised their family, beside the of the stump of the grand tree their children once played in and swung high above Flat Creek. Feeling a connection and kinship I asked how they were able to come home. Without hesitation they said it was the kindness of strangers. They said church groups, volunteers, anonymous donors and Samaritan’s Purse brought them home. They said they still don’t know the people who put them back in their home, but they remain amazed, thankful and blessed.

I stood beside them watching in awe as these magical machines hauled the debris from the creek they loved. I told them they are the picture of perseverance and I was sorry they had to endure some of the worst. They told me they undoubtedly consider themselves fortunate. Homeless for 4 months, no easy method of rebuilding, salvaged belongings threatened by wildfires; and they consider themselves fortunate.

The man told me he worries about his wife and her severe anxiety. She shook her head agreeing withth him. We have had a LOT of heavy wind and rain this week. She told me she can’t sleep when the weather is intense. I know this is a common experience for many in our valley . The PTSD is real and I am not sure one can ever recover from the sights, sounds and the nightmare of Helene.

The couple raised their children beside a quaint and playful creek for over 40 years. They never wanted to go anywhere else, so they stayed. They aren’t sorry they stayed. I thanked them for sharing their story with me. They thanked me for giving them to time and space to share and listen.

Everyone here has a story. The specifics vary, but the horror, fears and anxiety remain the common denominator. People here want to talk about the experience. It’s part of the healing. It helps to share with others who experienced it and also with those who can’t imagine. We are the only ones who can educate and advocate for our area.

© Gatewood Campbell, June 2025

We decided to drive over to Blowing Rock this week. It was our first time there since Helene. We go through Old Fort and take the back roads. The damage from Helene is still stunning. The river bed is FULL of rocks. So many rocks. So many trees. There wasn’t a single time I didn’t see a downed tree. There were places with just one down and then places with 20-30 flat on the ground, oddly perched atop boulders, leaning on the mudslides that uprooted them, others held up only by other trees, some living and some uprooted. It’s devastating and overwhelming all at the same time. There is simply so much work to do. We were encouraged to see areas of the equipment that was in our creek this week. You can see the excavator tracks along the creek beds with neatly stacked freshly cut trees. We saw many temporary bridges and crossed several. There were many single homes and properties with brand new bridges. It begs us to wonder how long they were cut off from assistance. If it was their driveway what did it cost them to reconnect with the main road? Helene spared nothing. I worry for the trauma of those residents. How do you ever recover the feelings of safety and security in your own home? What about the kids? Will their minds ever be stilled?

We finally hit the Blue Ridge Parkway and happier sights. The vastness of our land is striking. The clouds hung low and cast stunning shadows on the mountains. Today we could really see the shades of blues showed beautifully and reminded us why they are called the Blue Ridge Mountains. I looked upon the landscape knowing that God gave us that sight and I have to trust that He will control the recovery as well.

We returned home to find that our dry creek bed had been completed. The day before the storm we knew our home was in danger of flooding. That Wednesday so much rain fell that we had two inches of standing water on our permeable patio. With the storm barreling in Johnny knew he had to shore up the yard. He spent all day Thursday digging a ditch and secured the house side with sand bags from Lowe’s that JUST reopened along with a few sandbox sandbags from our local ACE Hardware. The last of their sandbags had just walked out the door as Johnny walked in. Did you know 25 sandbags cost the same as 5 sandbox sandbags? We learned that little known fact. That ditch and those sandbags saved our home from destruction. Without it we would have been completely flooded out. Around 9:30 AM the ditch overflowed and cut through the sandbags. Thankfully the storm moved on and we were spared. Until now we have had sandbags as yard decor. Today the creek bed reminds us of the destruction and also the beauty that can rise up. Our incredible landscaper beautifully avoided the silly waving frog atop Mom’s ashes and delicately holding Monkey’s collar. I sat outside and listened the the creek that barreled through WNC destroying anything and everything near it. Flat creek welcomed me home as if she was saying “I got you”, “you will survive and so will those you worry about”. She brought music tonight and will lull us to sleep. Singing birds will wake us up. We will face another day intent on sharing the needs of our neighbors and working for recovery for our hearts, souls and land.

© Gatewood Campbell, April 2025

Today is the eve of my mother’s death. We had spent the previous 4 days hosting 65 of her friends and family who came to say their goodbyes. It was incredible and also emotionally exhausting. I watched in amazement and heart tugging torture to sit beside her through 65 goodbyes. The hospice nurses were literally running ragged coming to tell me we had more visitors. At that time we could only have 7 people in the room at a time, exception being immediate family. With friends in the room they would pass me a post it with who was waiting and I would let the current company know it was time to go. Mom and I both napped between guests.

On this day, we noticed she was sleeping more. One of her dearest friends had taken the early shift so Will and I could sleep in a bit. Will said his own good byes and headed back to CO. It was now just Johnny and me in her quiet room. The chaplain came to get me and speak privately. He told me he knew were sneaking mom orange juice. I told him it was the only thing that made her happy. She had specifically asked for Laura Lynn Orange Juice with Pulp. We were happy to oblige. Well he kindly told me her body could potentially survive for weeks and he could see the family was mentally and physically done. My head hit the table. I wept and told him I could not keep this up. The 6 weeks since starting chemo were actually hell. Every single day of it. He knew all of the difficulties mom had endured and knew the effects on the family. He warned if we keep sneaking orange juice she may have to be discharged from hospice and sent home. There was clearly no other option than to stop giving her any liquids at all, including ice chips. I talked to the family and we were all in agreement. I sat down with mom and explained what he told us. In her all so common sense attitude and vast understanding of what is best she agreed.

It was late afternoon and I felt we still had a couple of days left. Johnny and I decided it was time to go home. Mom was sleeping a lot. Johnny and I were napping in the recliner or the window bench. I pulled up a chair and prepared to tell her we were leaving. For the first time ever she was agitated. I knew I wasn’t going to leave her like that. The timing was wrong. As I was talking to her she scratched her nose and her oxygen fell out. She held it in the air and said “If I take this off will it speed this up?” We said “maybe”. She threw it on the floor. Back to the window bench for another light nap for me. A nurse came in and said “Ms. Payne I see your oxygen on the floor.” Oh crap, I am going to get in trouble for this. This sweet nurse continued and said “I see you are breathing just fine on your own so we will hang this back on the wall and turn it off.” I exhaled in relief.

For 6 very long weeks I had ventured with her to hard appointments, watched her accept bad news, struggle with the pain of finding veins, make the difficult choice to get a pic line. She delayed the pic line until the 4th week. We had been begging her to get it and give herself the relief she needed. I remember pleading with her and taking a different angle. I told her she’s causing other patients to suffer because extra nurses had to leave their patients to some come tend to her. A nurse is only allowed 3 failed attempts at finding a vein and then someone else has to try. We were going through nurses like paper napkins while eating chicken wings. I asked mom why she was so opposed to getting it. “Because that means this is dire.” “Um well yea, we have been upgraded to a private room in the cancer enter for infusions and routine blood transfusions. Mom, this is dire.” She agreed and it was just a week before the decision to stop all treatments and move to hospice. Sigh…

A couple of hours later we felt it was time to head home. She was resting peacefully and was no longer agitated. Johnny had a private goodbye with her and then it was my turn. I pulled up a chair again, this time a little closer. While weeping I told her I knew the only thing in the world she cared about was me and she would go to the ends of the earth for me. She agreed. I told her I needed to let go. I never forget what she said next. “DAMN IT I’M TRYING!!!” I told her I knew, but that I was giving her permission to let go and it was time. I told her I was ok with finally letting go and I was proud of the fight she had lived, really since she was 40 years old and essentially recreated herself, her career and the rest of her life. She was loved, respected and faithful to those she loved. She had done well. I kissed her on her forehead and left.

I had been sleeping with my phone in my hand each night in case hospice called. That evening I slept more soundly than ever and sometime during the night my phone fell on the floor. I woke up around 4 am to a slew of missed calls from hospice and my brother. I called hospice immediately. Shortly after midnight mom took her final breath. To this day I believe it was the connection mom and I had, the permission I gave her to let go and her ultimate commitment to doing anything in her power to take the best care of me. She lived a beautiful life and had an equally beautiful ending.

As we celebrate my mom, go do something wild, crazy and unexpected. While we mourn her terribly, she continues to teach us to live big, live wild and live free. Do as she did and be brave in all things.

© Gatewood Campbell, April 2025