Noah Part Two

.... continued from previous post.

Alone and anxious, I sloshed through the mud pile that covered my driveway and entered the garage. Slippery mud was everywhere and everything stank. The street was a war zone. Misplaced objects littered our yard, and the rest of the neighbourhood, covered in mud. I tried to open the door to the house but it was heavy with water and had warped out of shape. Eventually, I got it open and tentatively looked inside to take in the sights and smells of our personal Armageddon.

It was as bad as I had expected. Furniture and objects were strewn everywhere, covered in mud. Some things, like an outdoor table and chairs, had apparently been gently lifted up and gently placed down in their correct positions. Other things were lying about randomly. The smell was unbearable and I will never forget it. Our beautiful home was a gruesome and chaotic parody.

I did not know where to start or what to do. This called for serious physical labour with tools and skills. This was not a problem that called for drafting Court documents or succinctly articulating the potential liability of a receiver in effecting the sale of a particular development site. This task was beyond me. Well beyond me.

Then people started to arrive. Some were friends like Abigail and Steven Viller and Trish and Philip Stevenson. Some were neighbours, like the Uni students who had just moved into the house next door a few days before the deluge. Many were strangers. They were just everyday people who were roaming the affected suburbs with mops and brooms looking to help anyone they could. We worked all day and cleaned up much of the mess. The Brisbane City Council organised a kerbside collection where trucks would regularly stop and collect the latest piles of rubbish. Strangers dropped in with cakes and drinks. We photographed and catalogued all lost items, to support the insurance claim.

The Villers even took in Camilla's mother as a house guest for more than a week. I believe the Pope is considering sainthood.

The next day, a large group of my workmates arrived at the house with brooms and buckets. There were partners, employed lawyers, trainees and secretaries. They just wanted to work, because their mate needed a hand. Hopgood Ganim is that sort of place. We had so many helping hands already that we turned away many offers of help from passing strangers.

By this stage, the Brisbane City Council had repaired most essential services and the Premier had organised a donation fund for those victims who were uninsured. The speed of the recovery was breathtaking. It was well organised and well led by the Labor State Premier and the Liberal Lord Mayor. The people of Queensland showed the world how to quickly, efficiently and effectively deal with a major natural disaster. I felt guilty for my cynical thoughts towards the hoarders and spectators a few days earlier. As a man who assumes mediocrity in those who don't prove otherwise, I was pleasantly surprised by the communal display of generosity. It was both refreshing and uplifting.

We continued to liaise with our insurer, Suncorp. They were an absolute pleasure to deal with. They quickly approved a short term lease for a nearby townhouse and we moved ourselves and our belonging into our new temporary home. Not long before the flood, Imogen had been in hospital for surgery to remove her appendix. In true Imogen style, she never complained and simply made the best of it. She made friends with kids from other flood refugee families in the complex. We even had neighbours called Kramer!

We were fair with Suncorp and they were fair with us. We did not claim a lost Van Gogh or a case of Dom Perignon and they did not pennypinch what we did claim. Suncorp promptly engaged a builder to repair the damage and he did a pretty good job. Around many affected suburbs, residents displayed makeshift signs on their construction sites. Some praised the insurers like Suncorp who had done them good. Others criticised the many other insurers whom they felt had done them wrong.

Charlie struggled to adapt to his new routine and surroundings. It was a big ask for an autistic boy who had just started full time at AEIOU. The Centre was brilliant and provided us and Charlie with a great deal of practical support. We knew that he was in the right place.

After around six months, the construction work was over and we moved home. Even though the water level had not reached the upstairs floorboards, there was much damage to our upper level. The walls had sucked in copious amounts of floodwater and all of the upstairs carpets, curtains, mattresses and soft furnishing were covered in mildew and damaged beyond repair. Suncorp paid to replace the lot, without protest.

A few weeks after moving home, I caught a virus and got sick. The virus then attacked my heart and put my in hospital for seven months on a VAD waiting for a heart transplant. Perhaps the virus was borne upon those apocalyptic flood waters. Perhaps not. It really does not matter.

I am now less cynical and genuinely proud of Brisbane and its people. Last year, my family was pummelled by three cataclysmic events. Brisbane responded with a world class Early Intervention Centre for Charlie's autism, a world class repair and recovery effort following the flood and a world class transplant hospital to deal with my heart failure. Can any other city on the planet boast that? We have reason to have great civic pride in what we have built in this hot and steamy little corner of the globe.

I still can't bring myself to support the Brisbane Broncos. But I hate them a little less now. Mind you, not when they play Souths. This road to Damascus epiphany only goes so far.


Until next time,