Everywhere there was garbage—clothing, merchandise from the shops on the road, lamps, garbage cans, pieces of wood, fallen palm trees, bicycles, motor scooters, and even a big refrigerator. I had an urge to open its door and see if I could find a cool drink.

The debris, the destruction, that was bad. Other things were tragic. There were people yelling out names, asking each person they passed if he or she had seen the loved one they couldn’t find. Maybe they’d been torn away from each other when the wave hit. I didn’t even want to think about it. Maybe one of them was looking for that man who had been swept away. How many people were missing—or dead?

“Be careful of the glass,” my father said as he led us into the lobby through the opening where the full-length picture windows had once been. The water was almost gone but the carpets were sopping wet, and there was more garbage and sand…and a taxicab, on its side, was pinned against the front desk! I pointed at it, in awe.

“Quite the parking spot,” my father said.

I snorted, and then felt bad. The last thing I’d expected was a joke. He smiled at me.

“How did it even get in here?” I asked.

He gestured to the front doors leading to the street. They were ripped off the hinges. It must have been sitting up front and been pulled in when the water receded.

The little bit of furniture that remained was all pushed against the walls and had been smashed and overturned. Without the furniture, people were sitting on the floor. Some of them were in tears. Some were yelling, angrily, and others, even stranger, were laughing. There were also those who were sitting silently, staring blankly, in shock. Some people were hovering, while others were racing around. The staff, usually so calm, were almost frantic.

My mother bent down beside a woman who was quietly sobbing. She was holding her arm.

“Let me have a look,” she said.

The woman hesitated.

“It’s okay, I’m a nurse.”

The woman raised her arm and my mother carefully examined it, asking questions.

It was strange to see her this way. She was my mom, not a nurse. And it had been six or seven years since she’d even worked as a nurse…since about the time the MS first hit.

“It’s definitely broken. I’m going to immobilize it and then we’ll get a doctor to set it and you’ll be okay. Don’t worry.” My mother stood up and turned to us. “I’m going to stay here and help sort out the injuries.”

“We’re going to look around,” my father said. “Check things out more thoroughly.”

We moved through the lobby and out the front door. The driveway and the road behind that were devoid of traffic. No cars or taxis or even bicycles. There were people wandering about, picking up the remains of the little kiosks. The tourists looked stunned. They were wandering, bumping into one another, aimless, as though they couldn’t believe any of this. How could they? I certainly didn’t.