On October 09, 2024, Hurricane Milton hit Florida and changed my family’s life, like it did for many other Floridians. Feet of water covered my property, with several feet of water throughout my home, garage, and the apartment where my son lived. The water stayed for weeks as my previous beautiful oak hammock was now a retention pond.  

In its wake, we lost access to two homes with the need to rebuild almost every trade you can imagine (electric, plumbing, drywall, etc.), nearly all appliances, many personal belongings and most furniture, and a vehicle. This Give Send Go was set up to help with some of that loss. I cannot even begin to calculate the total financial loss of this tragedy. For perspective, the quote for water mitigation alone is $20,000 per structure just to tear things out and spray for mold. As is common in Florida, since we did not live in a flood zone, we have no flood insurance and, therefore, no insurance for any portion of this loss. Our only recourse is dealing with FEMA and the generosity of wonderful people like you. We will use every penny to make these homes livable as we move into this new chapter of our lives. Thank you for your consideration.

That is an overview of what occurred and what is needed. However, this is not a story of loss; it is a story of blessings. Here is the rest of the story.

Have you ever stood in a field and listened? There are no devices, distractions, or conversation, just the sounds that envelope you as you stand there in stillness. I have done it many times since we were blessed to save enough to purchase a home in Florida in May of 2023. The 2008 housing crisis led to the loss of a business but led me to a career in law enforcement. Finally, after over 15 years, we rebounded from that loss and were homeowners again.

In October of 2023, I had open heart surgery to get a new aortic valve. A life-saving surgery at the Cleveland Clinic in Ohio gave me another chance at life, and in the days after the surgery, I returned to that same land with the same sounds and the same stillness. Nestled on a couple of acres, close to a town, but surrounded by large grandfather oaks that have stood resolutely through centuries of Florida’s growth and discovery, this little piece of land is also a place of peace. Returning here after my heart surgery felt grounding and was part of the healing process to finally get back to law enforcement and the podcast (OnTheBlueLine.com) I was doing for the law enforcement community. By August 2023, the surgery was all in the rearview, and things were back to “normal.” Little did we know that all this would change in only a few short months.

As all first responders do, I worked as Hurricane Milton barreled toward central Florida. Getting home that morning after a 12-hour shift, the usually 5-minute drive, took nearly an hour to get into my driveway with downed trees and powerlines, reminiscent of video from war zones. Finally, I made it home and slept before my next shift. In times of crisis, especially like a hurricane, first responders and other critical personnel typically begin working a 12-hour on/12-hour off schedule every day until we can mitigate much of the crisis. This was the beginning of this schedule for us.

An hour after laying down, I awoke to my wife saying water was rapidly coming up in the backfield. Moments later, she told me it was also approaching the house and needed me. As the water came in at a rate that is hard to explain, and with barely an hour of sleep, we grabbed our go-bags, animals, work car, and one family car and left into the unknown.

The subsequent days would be my family staying with friends an hour away and me living at the office as we continued our 12 on/ 12 off cycle. At night, I would drive near the area and watch as the water continued rising, showing no signs of stopping. Dirt roads would wash out, houses would be flooded nearly to the roof lines, and the relentless assault of the water would continue its march unabated.

Nearing its peak, I returned to the property, and a friend took my wife and me around the property in a canoe. I included some of those videos in the link above. It was shocking. For clarity, I live in a nearly 100-year-old home. Built in 1926, Calvin Coolidge was President when the original family who built the home arrived and staked out their new piece of Florida land. In all that time, the property had never flooded the house. Unfortunately, the only thing that has changed, an all-too-common refrain in Florida, is the new community they built up nearby that caused all the runoff to sit in the new “retention pond,” formerly my house.

As we surveyed the devastation from the canoe, I remember looking across the now marshland and swamp and seeing the egrets on a fence near the back of the property where livestock used to graze. I observed fish, frogs, gators, and turtles where chickens used to peck the lawn. In a matter of days, the water destroyed the “things” we often hold dear, but the land moved on, and the peace that drew me to the property remains. Oddly, I felt at that moment that God was reminding me that it was still his wondrous creation and that even in tragedy, beauty shines.

This would be the story going forward. For every setback and moment of loss, there has been a respite of hope and blessing.

Friends have allowed us to stay with them while we are currently homeless. Friends have let us borrow their vehicle(s). A non-profit group helped with much of the tear-out, saving us thousands of dollars in the mitigation. Friends have assisted with clean-ups, and many strangers and friends have donated to this campaign to help us.

From a financial perspective, we have a long way to go to get the home back to a livable condition, which is why we do most of the work ourselves. Including contractors to repair fully gutted homes becomes astronomical. However, I told you this is a story of blessings and hope. I know that this loss will be used for good. I understand that the same God who created the beauty of nature that fills my property in both times of joy and devastation has set in motion the things that are to come and will be to his glory.

This week, nearly twenty days after the initial flood and only a few days after the water receded (the road and a corner of the property are STILL flooded twenty days later), I walked to the back fence. Standing there in the stillness of the moment as the sun fell below the western horizon, I heard the cry of the whistling ducks as they flew overhead to their nighttime nests. I saw the reflective eyes of the tiny critters scurrying about in anticipation of their nighttime foraging, and I felt the gentle wind against my skin as another day ended. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but I know it will be “ok” because of the prayers and generosity of people like you. Thank you, and God Bless.