Extreme weather conditions take their toll

The storms unleash their fury and we marvel at the images of destruction. In the days that follow, damage reports are drawn up and financial losses are calculated. The higher the number, the higher the presumed number of victims.

While such analysis is necessary, it is quite sobering. It provides valuable data needed to support state and federal reimbursement, but it obscures the profound personal impact of extreme weather events and the fact that behind every image of destruction lies a person, family or community whose life has been turned upside down.

We must think of them as we consider how, why, and whether we need to take action to stop the devastation. We should also think of the emergency responders who dutifully responded and the city officials who will have to make important decisions in the first 48 hours and the next 48 weeks. The cost of these disasters is not measured only in dollars and cents.

I’m not saying that it’s not important to catalog and better understand the number of extreme weather events that have caused billions in damage. It is. But it’s also important that we look beyond the money and consider the fate of the people who are now, in some ways, helpless.

Much of the impact of a storm is the trauma it causes to its victims, and trauma has long-lasting effects. The storm passes, but the pain remains.

Long Island has seen this before, most recently during Superstorm Sandy in 2012, when most of the devastation affected the south shore. The region experienced it again last weekend, when parts of Suffolk County’s north shore were inundated with more than 9 inches of rain.

CATALOGUE OF DESTRUCTION

The photos and videos piled up as quickly as the water rose.

Parts of houses were washed away.

Dams and roads were destroyed.

There were the houses that rested on the edge of eroding cliffs.

Some cars were submerged in water or buried in mud.

There were trees that downed power lines and caused bedrooms and garages to collapse.

There were the ponds and lakes drained by destroyed dams, their thick mud littered with the carcasses of dead fish, their ducks and swans huddled disorientated around the remaining shallow pools of water. As centers of local ecosystems and magnets for hikers and nature lovers, they made the communities around them special.

The dormitories were evacuated and the students dispersed.

At the Smithtown library, flooding in the basement damaged valuable historical records and artifacts.

And we stared, as always, in awe, perhaps glad that we did not face the same anger.

But we should all pause for a minute and think of the people who are often not seen in these pictures and who have to cope with all the destruction.

Think of the homeowner whose insurance doesn’t cover all the necessary repairs. The worker who can no longer get to work. The couple whose morning walk takes them through a park that resembles a war zone. The family left with no place to live, no clothes, and no memorabilia. The business owner who faces exorbitant costs to repair his store and restock his inventory. The retiree who wonders if life next to a beach, a creek, or a pond is really as heavenly as he expected.

FAR FROM THE “BIG”

Given all the human suffering, it is also important to remember that this was essentially a rainstorm, not even a minor hurricane, nor the “major hurricane” that will inevitably strike Long Island one day.

Adding to all this unrest, we are increasingly realizing that what experts call a once-in-a-thousand-years storm is no longer a storm at all. These mortality tables are out of date, based on data from decades that no longer accurately reflect our times. The storms that hit us today are coming more frequently and with greater force, making us increasingly uncertain. And they seem to come with a randomness that is disturbing: they strike here today, somewhere else tomorrow, leaving behind devastating scars whose cumulative effect should spur us collectively to action.

As we think about the personal impacts of extreme weather events, we should take the necessary steps, both large and small, to minimize them. That includes preparing before the storms hit. That includes planning what to do when and after they arrive. And that includes planning for large-scale adaptations over the long term to reduce the intensity and frequency of extreme weather events.

Part of that is moving beyond the arguments about what to call what’s happening. It’s time for all of us to acknowledge that things are changing, and in ways we’ve never experienced before, and that those changes have created the uncertainty that gnaws at us before the storms arrive, and the fear that weighs us down when they’re over.

As we consider what to do and how to move forward, we should remember those who have suffered most from the force of nature. Their loss must be the impetus for us to act.