Scars from Harvey, Irma will linger long after nation ‘moves on’

Now that her winds have subsided and her surges receded, Hurricane Irma will command our attention for just a bit longer.

Then the networks will return to Donald Trump Jr. and the Russians.

There’s just so much pathos we can absorb. The example of the ham omelet comes to mind, noting that while the hen is involved, the pig is committed.

That’s how it is with hurricanes. Florida and Houston were committed.

Did you notice Harvey was barely mentioned while Irma was spinning out of control? As Bill Belichick would have put it, we had moved on.

But you can be sure no one who calls Houston home was moving on.

Like Andrew, Katrina and Sandy, Irma and Harvey will live in infamy in the places they destroyed.

In the sub rosa world of families coping with a loved one’s addiction, a gifted speaker named Ray often uses hurricanes to illustrate why a curse such as alcoholism is called a family disease.

“Days before the hurricane comes,” he says, “windows are boarded, things are tied down. Then it happens: trees are bent, debris is flying; it’s terrifying.

“But the next day the sun comes out, the sky is blue and everything is serene. Pretty soon no one’s talking about the hurricane anymore. Yet when you look around years later you can still see the damage it did.

“That’s what it’s like when alcoholism blows through a family. Even if the alcoholic has stopped drinking, the damage his drinking caused can be seen in those who loved him.”

Visit Houston years from now and you’ll know Harvey had been there.

A hurricane is an emotional roller coaster, not only for those who are taking the ride but also for those who are watching its dips and turns.

Up in New Hampshire, a retired teacher named Sue kept in constant contact with her sister Mary and brotherin-law Don, who had decided to “ride out” Irma in their 11th-story condo on Marco Island.

Sue’s emails were heartfelt expressions of caring and concern, truly love letters from sister to sister, at least until the danger passed. Then she fired off a less poignant postcript, addressing it to the “idiots,” vowing to send them a dictionary explaining “mandatory evacuation.”

So what’s the lesson? Or is it, as the late Glen Campbell sang, “a lesson too late for the learning?”

No, it’ll happen again, somewhere, someplace. And we’ll respond the way we always do, briefly mesmerized before moving on. It’s the victims, not the viewers, who never fully move on.