Silence, uncertainty is a parent’s worst nightmare

Nancy got a text message from her brother last week that triggered a level of anxiety no parent should face. He warned his baby sister of a fire sweeping through Maui.

Immediate shock quickly turned into frustration and desperation. Nancy had been a mother figure to Danielle since she was in diapers, raising her for much of her childhood. Now she’s 39.

Danielle lives in the tiny town of Lahaina, the epicenter of the Hawaii wildfires.

Nancy called everyone who may know something. Others called her, including her niece, who was in the Philippines.

The fires destroyed everything, including much of the island’s communications. The only word from the seaside resort was about destruction and death.

A little more than six hours later, Nancy finally got a text from Danielle. She got out on time. She was lucky.

Other than the fact that she’s safe and without power, Nancy hasn’t been able to get many details about Danielle. She’s now on the safe side of the island. But Nancy has seen the pictures of Front Street in Lahaina. The restaurant, Papa’aina, where Danielle took Nancy for Mother’s Day lunch, is gone. So is the marina where Danielle worked and Fleetwood’s of Front Street, where Fleetwood Mac drummer Mick Fleetwood played nightly.

But Danielle, always Nancy’s little girl, is alive. And for now, that’s all that matters. She has no job or power and is unsure if or when they will return. She has survivor’s guilt because she wonders why she got out alive and some of her co-workers didn’t.

The Hawaii Emergency Management Agency didn’t issue a warning. They texted an alert for a “huge plume of black smoke.” But where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

Hawaii has the most comprehensive alert system in the world. There are more than 400 alarms on the islands to warn of tsunamis. There were 80 alarms on Maui, but they were silent because tsunami alerts are issued by the National Weather Service, not HEMA.

Once the smoke settles, let’s hope NWS and HEMA develop plans to overlap their services.

But, like everything else on Maui, that will come later. There’s so much to be done first – like scheduling funerals for 100 people.

Last week’s tragedy was another that nobody said it was easy to be a parent. You want the best for them. When there’s a chance your children could be hurt, you compromise with higher authorities, keep a vigil by the telephone and worry. And you cry.

I remember in 1999 when my daughter was diagnosed with malignant ovarian cancer on a Monday. She was in surgery by Thursday morning. I waited for two hours to learn they got it in time.

I also remember on May 26, 2002. I was in Charlotte, North Carolina, for the Coca-Cola 600. I got ready for breakfast when I saw a breaking news bulletin on television. A barge had run into a 2,000-foot suspension bridge on Interstate 40 in Webbers Falls, Oklahoma. A 580-foot portion of the bridge fell into the Arkansas River, and there were immediate death reports.

I knew my son was driving back to his Air Force base in New Mexico from Atlanta. I know he was supposed to spend the night east of Oklahoma City, get up early that Sunday, and continue his drive.

I did a quick calculation and realized he would be very close to that bridge at 8:45 a.m. when it collapsed. I called his cellphone and didn’t hear back. I called again. And again. And again.

An hour later, he called. He was in Oklahoma City and wasn’t unaware of the bridge. I told him when it happened, and we realized he had driven over that bridge 15 minutes before the disaster.

Fourteen people died that morning.

I can’t imagine the parents’ anguish in Hawaii and Oklahoma have gone through. They waited for calls that would never come.

So if you’ll excuse me, I will call my children. I want them to know I love them.