A solemn Christmas in Asheville, three months after Hurricane Helene

The storm made landfall in Florida Sept. 26 as a Category 4 storm and moved quickly through Georgia, Tennessee and the Carolinas, crossing the Asheville area on Sept. 27.

During those first few days following the storm, my neighbors and I gathered outside, not entirely aware of the extent of regional damage but hoping one of us had somehow found answers to basic questions: Where were the power trucks? Is every highway out of town closed?

We were all, though, without power, water and cell service. The grocery stores and gas stations were dark, or gutted. Every few minutes, we could hear the piercing sirens from emergency vehicles, but between those alarms an incongruous and uneasy silence hovered in the air.

Three months have passed, and the Christmas season is here. I am wondering what it means to celebrate in a time of tragedy, at a time when so many have lost so much. 

I recently drove up on two overturned railroad tanks beside the Swannanoa. I had been distracted by the demands of the day, and, out of habit, had taken a road I traveled daily before the storm, forgetting in the moment that the road was closed where the bridge had washed out. 

Driving down the hill for the first time since the storm, I saw the concrete barriers placed at the bridge. The tankers lay to my right, but also surrounding me were mounds of debris, shredded pieces of plastic covering trees on the riverbank, piles of uncoiled wire weaving in and out of snapped two-by-fours. It was a broken and twisted landscape, yet disturbingly empty where buildings had once stood.

Over the next few days, I visited the Swannanoa in places where it was accessible. What I realize now is that, yes, upturned railroad cars, tractor trailers that remain half buried in the river, and skeleton-like buildings are all shocking examples of the storm's fury, but also shattering are the smaller reminders of individuals who suffered the storm — their clothing, their toys, the doors they once opened to their homes.

How do we live with a sense of hope and peace when the mind is trapped in a state of disbelief? When a world lying in solemn stillness carries grim significance?

When people who have lost homes, businesses, and a sense of safety are heard making statements like, "I was one of the lucky ones"? What does Christmas say to us in these times? What does it say to those who lost loved ones?

Maybe some years we must allow others to hold the joy of the season, even as they embrace those attempting to conceal expressions of unrelenting shock.