FORT MYERS, Fla. – More than two decades ago, Jane and Del Compton ran into Fort Myers while vacationing in southwestern Florida. This is where they will retire, they decided on the spot, in a place where they can age in peace and sunshine.
They bought a double plot with a mobile home and a few small luxuries: a fan with remote control and his and his television so she could watch the operas. his soap and he can watch cowboy shows.
But Hurricane Ian ravaged their paradise, soaking up photos from their four decades of marriage, destroying their car and leaving them homeless. They don’t have homeowners insurance; Their policy was canceled in June because of the age of their house, a 1978 model.
Now the Comptons – grandmother at 77, he at 81 – have resigned themselves to giving up their retirement dreams. They will be returning to their hometown of Louisville, Ky., in the coming weeks to stay with their daughter and figure out their next steps, though they don’t want to leave their beloved church community and friends. Spending their twilight years in Florida seemed suddenly out of reach.
“We talked about it, we argued about it, we shouted about it, we cried about it,” Ms. Compton said, sitting outside the church, where the couple had been with a the box containing the emotional treasures they manage. Rescue. “Our bubble has burst.”
Official storm-related death toll suggests that older Americans die in disproportionate numbers. Approximate ages or ages were released for 96 of the 126 hurricane victims in Florida and North Carolina. At least 70 people died aged 60 or older. Many of the victims were found dead in their homes. But Ian didn’t just kill more elders; it also creates unique situations for survivors.
Even if they can afford to rebuild, those people may not have the time or energy needed for such a difficult task and the prospect of stricter building code can make that more expensive than ever. Many, like the Comptons, lived on a fixed income, lacked flood insurance or bought a home before the housing boom of the last decade, when the area was much more affordable. Recapturing their paradise may be impossible – a brutal and sudden blow.
In interviews, some residents said they challenged themselves to weather the storm in the homes they had poured their savings into, in part to make sure they could easily clean up the damage.
Richard Hoyle, 75, moved with his wife to Pine Island, near Fort Myers, in December, after she asked to move to the area from the Tennessee mountains. He insisted they had to weather the storm, but the storm knocked down the second step to their home, and they watched boats fly across the canal with winds of up to 150 mph.
The aftermath of Hurricane Ian
“We’ve decided, this is our retirement home, and we’re going to stay and fight for it,” said Hoyle, a former Marine and firefighter. “I’m glad we stayed – some battles were worth fighting for.”
Likewise, Garland Roach, 79, says he has no intention of leaving his badly damaged home in a modest neighborhood of North Fort Myers, where the lone palm tree in his front yard is now surrounded by drain pipes, baffles and other debris.
“My daughter wants me back in Ohio, and I told her I would bury my ashes,” he said, adding that he hopes the Federal Emergency Management Agency or the National Guard will provide a tarp for his dilapidated roof. “I can’t last another winter up there with my arthritis.”
The two people who died from the storm, Florida officials said, were men in their 70s who shot themselves after witnessing the destruction of their property.
Carol Freeman, 75, said: “I thought it was a breaking point for a lot of people and stopped while cleaning the muddy floor of my home on Pine Island, which was devastated by the storm.
Since the storm, Miss Freeman, a retired postal worker who lives with her parrot, Jose, has lost power, forced to use baby wipes to stay clean and, at least once, eat a military-style meal is offered for dinner. She spent days debating whether it was worth the stay.
Maybe it’s time to return to her hometown of Chicago after about four decades of living on the island, she said. “Too old for this,” she said.
Some retirees wintering on the Gulf Coast are planning to leave the state.
In Fort Myers Beach, an island town that attracts tourists and Midwestern snowbirds, an entire group of friends recently gathered to examine the wreckage – and begin mourning for the dead. in their Florida. At Gulf Cove, a mobile home community near the foot of the bridge, residents are trying to salvage belongings from their dilapidated property. Some say they hope that the riverside land where they have cultivated close friendships over the years will be sold to developers and razed.
One of the residents, Deb Macer, 69, said: “Even if a miracle happened to get us back together, there are still a lot of couples in their 80s or 90s.” Deb Macer, 69, said.
Before the storm, their neighborhood days had a familiar, relaxed rhythm. The retirees who live there plan coffee hours and daily walks across the bridge to Estero Island. Mrs. Macer had planned the get-togethers and her husband, Stacy, 70, was known as a swashbuckler in the community.
“I’m afraid it’s gone,” their friend Paul Wasko, 75, said. “This way of life is gone.”
Cindy and Steve Duello are barely starting to realize their retirement dreams here. Regularly walking and biking around Fort Myers Beach has kept them feeling vibrant and healthy in their 60s. They forage for their orchids, get along with their neighbors, and teach their grandchildren to hunt. scour the beach for prized heart-shaped rocks.
At the center of it all is a modest two-bedroom house on Albatross Street, a gathering place since the 1980s for four generations of Duellos.
Duello, 68, said: “It’s only 1,200 square feet, but it’s our mansion.
Ian left most of Fort Myers Beach as a flattened, unrecognizable pile of rubble, and the Duello house was submerged in seawater. Days after the storm, the Duellos arrive on the island, see their destroyed home, and realize that the town cannot be rebuilt in time for them to enjoy it again.
“It won’t come back in our lifetimes,” Mrs. Duello said, through tears. “I can feel this has aged me.”
For some older Floridians, the storm created a world with no good options: They couldn’t imagine leaving the state at this stage of their lives, but their homes were gone. , perhaps forever.
In Naples, about 40 miles south of Fort Myers, the River Park neighborhood was a desperate sight on Thursday. Workers and homeowners are transporting water-soaked items out of their homes, building huge piles of trash on the curbs.
Rosalie Bulger, 73, is in her living room, surveying the remains of the one-story plastered house where she lived for 35 years. The smell of mold and rotting prevails.
“I’m numb,” she said as workers wearing N95 masks moved her belongings into the driveway: glassware, decorative pots, racks of brightly colored dresses.
Mrs. Bulger is enjoying a comfortable life like her family next door: Her daughter and son-in-law live in the bungalow next door. As she looked around at her crumbling belongings, she said she was counting on God to help her figure out what to do next, though she couldn’t imagine how long it would take – if yes – so that her house is habitable.
“I won’t go,” she said of the idea that she would join relatives or friends in another state. “But we can’t live here either.”
After her husband passed away on Mother’s Day last year, Linda Stevens, 75, decided to live permanently on Pine Island, which has provided many with a sanctuary far more affordable than rich homes available on nearby Sanibel Island. She and her husband traded many days of Maine’s harsh winters for the island’s northernmost water. She loves their new life: friends from the church, volunteers, the lush setting.
Ian was Ms. Stevens’ first storm, leaving her huddled with neighbors after evacuees’ traffic jams prevented her from leaving the island. They cared for her, made sure she was fed, and were able to leave safely after days without electricity and running water.
“If I was 50 years old, I would be tough and say, I will come back. But I’m not 50 anymore,” Ms. Stevens said. “I’ll never live through another hurricane season.”
Now, she’s debating whether to sell her entire home or revert to the snowbird lifestyle, moving closer to one of her daughters and spending only the winter months in the area.
But for now, she says, “I can’t make that decision. I’m still grieving.”
If you are contemplating suicide, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 (TALK) or visit SpeakingOfSuicide.com/resources for a list of additional resources.
Eliza FawcettCharles Ballaro, Jennifer Reed and Mitch Smith contribution report.
