Jamaica has been on my mind nonstop recently—mostly because Hurricane Melissa has been all over the news. Watching an island I love brace for impact stirred up so much inside me. I’ve survived a major storm myself—Hurricane Hugo in September of 1989, back when I lived in Belmont, North Carolina. And just this past year, we saw Hurricane Helene devastate towns across Western North Carolina.

Natural disasters have a way of triggering old emotions you thought had settled.
Storms don’t just uproot trees—they can uproot memories too.

And as if that wasn’t enough emotional weight for one weekend, it was also my 30th high school reunion.

So yes… a lot was bubbling to the surface.

Reunion Weekend Feelings (and the People We Miss)

Reunions are funny. You try to catch up with everyone, but there’s never enough time. There’s joy, nostalgia, awkward moments, and then—unexpectedly—those grief spurts that hit when you’re not ready for them.

Friends hugged me, offered condolences about my dad’s passing, and asked how we were doing. I had planned on wearing a “more flattering” shirt that night, but I chose the one that reminded me of him. It felt right. In my last blog, I shared one of his Valentine’s Day cards to my mom—the perfect example of his humor and the way he could string words together without ever saying much.

We also felt the absence of our classmate Jason, who was voted “Most Spirited” our senior year. He was absolutely with us in spirit. A few of us arrived early, and I asked my friends where they were and how they first heard the news about him all those years ago. Jason passed on a Wednesday. By Friday, our friend group skipped school and retreated to Crowders Mountain to clear our heads—yes, the same Crowders Mountain I wrote about in Loved Just As I Am.

According to the monks at Belmont Abbey, the abbot once looked out at that mountain and named the area Belmont, meaning “beautiful mountain.” Even in grief, that beauty held us.

One of my friends remembered someone in our group tossing a cigarette that accidentally started a small brush fire. Now, looking back, it’s hard not to see the symbolism—fire, purification, the Holy Spirit moving in ways we didn’t yet understand.

Grief, Memory, and the Gaps We Can’t Quite Fill

As good as I usually am with details, I can’t remember exactly how I found out about Jason. I recall sitting on the floor of my dorm room at Western Carolina. I know the phone call came from one of my parents. But whether it was the same day or the day after—I’m not sure. That memory is fuzzy, unfinished.

Another memory I do have: sitting on the floor in that same dorm room, talking to my dad months earlier when I made my own verbal threat to harm myself. He talked me through it, steadied me. And later, when Jason died, I missed grieving with friends and family. Those pieces of life that don’t line up but still shape you.

Years later, I had the privilege of talking with Jason’s mother. She is a woman of deep faith, and she knows with absolute certainty that her son still lives. Today, I sent her a video from Jamaica—a clip of Bev, with gospel music blasting in her shop. The hymn ringing through her speakers?
“Because He Lives.”
Sometimes God sends reminders without us even asking.

Jamaica Memories and the Steps My Dad Climbed

Jamaica holds some of my happiest family memories. My parents loved the peace of Negril’s Seven-Mile Beach, the warm water, and the slow rhythm of the island. On that trip, we also visited YS Falls—which meant riding through none other than Belmont, Jamaica. Something about that name seems to follow us.

When we reached the falls, my dad—who had Parkinson’s—was determined to climb every step. We discouraged him, worried for his safety. But he pushed back gently, the way he always did when he felt something mattered. And sure enough, he made it up every step. He was proud of himself, but we were proud long before he took the first one.

That moment reminds me of a vision he shared with my mom about a year ago. He told her he saw his father standing at the top of steps, motioning for him to come. I hold onto that image. I know in my spirit that when he crossed over, he heard:
“Well done.”

Praying Over Jamaica—and Over All Who Are Facing Storms

As Hurricane Melissa approaches Jamaica, I’m praying for protection, for steady foundations, and for peace that makes no sense except through God. Storms come—literal ones and emotional ones—but God never leaves us to face them alone.

Jamaica, we are praying for you.
God is with you.
And we are praying in the Spirit for your protection and rebuilding.

Sometimes the storms outside awaken storms inside.
And sometimes, they awaken memories, reminders, and a deeper awareness of God’s presence in all of it.