Essay: Vivid memories of the night Sandy stormed in

It’s hard to believe seven years have passed since superstorm Sandy roared in and devastated much of the Atlantic Coast and Long Island.

I remember that night vividly. Like many of my neighbors in Island Park, I chose to ride it out, having survived many coastal storms for more than four decades. Sandy was a different beast, however, and staying in my two-family Cape Cod house was a colossal mistake.

As floodwaters rushed into my basement around 8 p.m. on Oct. 29, 2012, the house shook and moaned. We lost power about 30 minutes later. Outside, transformers popped like Roman candles, and one ignited a house fire nearby. Winds up to 90 mph sent softball-sized embers cascading onto my roof. Luckily, my mother, with whom I share the house, was visiting relatives in Florida. I wondered whether I might survive the night, and I prayed myself to sleep.

Around 7 a.m. the next day, the stench from a brine of saltwater, gasoline, heating oil and raw sewage outside and in was overwhelming. While no water entered our first floor, there was serious damage. In the basement, flooding destroyed our burner, water heater, oil tank, washer, dryer and electric box. Outside, winds ripped off roof shingles, and the high water broke our garage door. The water contaminated three cars, including one in the garage, and they were total losses.

My mom soon returned because she had a local job, and for seven weeks, we lived without regular heat and hot water. We had nowhere else to stay, so we cooped up in the back of the house. We warmed it by boiling water on our gas-fueled stove and running space heaters from a four-hour nightly supply of electricity from a neighbor’s generator. The couple and their two children who lived upstairs at our house went to stay with in-laws, returning only when we got a new furnace just before Christmas.

So many things stored in our basement were lost: furniture, appliances, clothes, books, records, family photos and memorabilia, and my personal journals and writings. I resigned myself to thinking that it’s only stuff. Material things can be replaced.

Immediately after the storm, various organizations provided bottled water, canned goods and cleaning supplies. But a bigger job was ahead. It took determination and faith to get thousands of dollars in grants from government recovery programs to fix our home. We filed applications, provided documents, got estimates, went to meetings, met with counselors and wrote letters to the Federal Emergency Management Agency and the state. It took two years to get our aid. Major repairs took almost a year.

In the community, scores of houses have been lifted and many more are still being raised and/or rebuilt. But dozens of condemned zombie houses remain.

Around Island Park, many blocks are barely recognizable from before Sandy. Sycamore trees that once lined our streets died and have been cut down, leaving the village naked. Higher rooftops have altered the skyline. A lot of renters and homeowners left for good. I see a lot of new faces.

I doubt we are prepared for the next catastrophic event. I worry that our drainage system and bulkheads are not ready to withstand a serious flood. In the meantime, we hold our breaths every hurricane season. Surviving Sandy has been a supreme test. This time, we passed.

Reader Kyle Colona lives in Island Park.