UPDATED: Oct. 9, 2017 at 5:57 p.m.

More than two weeks after Hurricane Maria ravaged Puerto Rico, Bea González has yet to make direct contact with her father living in Cayey, a town in the central part of the island.

To reach him, González — Syracuse University’s vice president for community engagement — has set up a relay system. Every other day, her cousin calls his sister. Lisa, the sister, calls González, who sends a group text to her siblings. Cellphone service is only available for residents of Cayey, which is still without electricity, after a 30-minute drive out of the town.

SU students and faculty with ties to Puerto Rico, like González, are still grappling with Maria’s aftermath. The storm left a historic trail of destruction after flooding neighborhoods, ripping roofs off buildings and leaving the entire island without power.

Maria made landfall Sept. 20 as a Category 4 hurricane with 155 mph winds, just 2 mph short of Category 5 status. Now, only about 10 percent of Puerto Ricans have power and about 55 percent have running water, according to the territory’s government.

Officials are working to provide adequate food and water to communities cut off by blocked or destroyed roads and bridges, including the hometowns of some SU students. More than 500 SU students, faculty and staff are estimated to have ties to Puerto Rico, González said.

“We’re trying to put in place appropriate resources,” González said. “Students are concerned. Families losing income for two to three months has a dramatic impact on our students.”

Here are the stories of five of those students.

Cristina Colón

Courtesy of Cristina Colón

Cristina Colón wanted to scream.

For four days, the SU junior English and textual studies major stayed in her apartment after Maria hit Puerto Rico. On the bus going to class, she sat with her cellphone in her pocket, watching other students scroll through social media apps or text.

“I wanted to knock people’s phones out of their hands and yell, ‘Why are you so normal right now?’ Did they not know what’s going on in Puerto Rico?” she wrote in a personal story.

When Colón woke up Sept. 20, she read texts from her mother and sister.

“It’s 3:30 a.m. We’re okay, but this is really bad. Pray for us. I love you.”

“5:50 a.m.: We’re okay. This is horrible.”

“Sweetheart, this is horrible, it doesn’t end.”

“But we’re okay.”

“9:00 a.m.: The wind is still strong. We have some damages, but we are all OK. I love you, sweetheart. God bless you. Have a nice day.”

Colón’s family didn’t sleep that night. Her sister had a panic attack. Her mother said it was the worst experience of her life.

For the next four days, Colón scrolled through Facebook to look at the devastation. She didn’t leave her apartment. Her mother violated curfew to call her and say goodnight. Shortly after the storm, Colón’s father waited in line for hours to get gasoline, but the truck never showed up and he went home empty-handed.

“What has been most stressful is feeling powerless and basically useless,” Colón said. “There’s nothing I can do to help my family. Yes, I can donate, can send them things. The overall day-to-day? I can’t help them. I can’t be there.”

Over the past couple of weeks, Colón’s parents have spent weekends waiting in line for gasoline and ice. Her mother can barely sleep because it’s hot at night and there’s no power. Her battery-powered fan isn’t working. She has worried about fumes from the generator because if she breathes too much air, she is afraid she will fall asleep and die.

Marcus Lane Jr.

Marcus Lane Jr., a junior policy studies major, has heard only through neighbors that his aunt is OK. She has no power, no water and little food. She is using a nearby river as her primary water source.

“She’s living, just barely surviving,” Lane said.

Lane has not yet heard from all of his family members, but said he believes they are still alive. The storm destroyed the second floor of one of his family’s homes in Bayamon, just outside of San Juan, the capital. But Lane has younger cousins whom he normally sees on Facebook. He hasn’t seen them on there since the storm.

“Every single day, I’m thinking about them,” Lane said. “Honestly, my heart is broken.”

To Lane, it seemed like Maria came out of nowhere. He said the island has a tolerance for storms, which makes Maria’s wrath all the more devastating.

In class, Lane has found himself lost in his own thoughts, he said. Sometimes, the anxiousness is overwhelming. Power outages are relatively common in Puerto Rico, but neither he nor his family saw this coming.

When the storm hit, he called and texted his mother. He did not hear from his aunt, though. He still struggles to focus in class.

“It’s overwhelming to know an entire island has been ruined,” Lane said. “We have a huge — and this is an understatement — humanitarian crisis. I hope things will get better with that mentality, with hope in mind.”

Michelle Hernández

Courtesy of Michelle Hernández

Every day, Michelle Hernández’s parents wake up at 6 a.m. in their Guaynabo home. Then, for five hours, they wait in line for gas. Then they wait a few more hours for water, Hernández said.

A 6 p.m. curfew was initiated on the island, which means Hernández’s parents spend their entire day in line for gas, food and water. When not in line, her father has driven about three hours to Hernández’s grandmother’s home to bring her food and water.

Along the way, he has waited in hour-long traffic jams near cell towers, where cars line the sides of roads from people trying to send out a single text.

On the morning of the storm, Hernández spoke to her parents at 7 a.m. After a later class, she phoned them again. All of the lines were down, though. So Hernández went down her list of family and friends living in Puerto Rico, calling all of them. She couldn’t reach anybody.

“We had no clue what was going on,” Hernández said. “At the time there weren’t visuals or radio. You automatically think the worst.”

That night, neighbors sent Hernández a text indicating her parents were OK. She spoke to them on Sept. 21 and discovered they were not in a flooded area.

Hernández’s father, a lawyer, has limited work because clients can’t get to the office. Most people have no cell service. The school Hernández attended from kindergarten through 12th grade will resume session Monday in a less-impacted region of the island.

“There’s this overwhelming sense of impotence that you can’t do anything,” Hernández said.

Karla Torruella

Courtesy of Karla Torruella

It took 11 days for Karla Torruella to hear from her father — a single text message last Sunday — after days of no connection. He told her that he was OK, but her reply did not go through. His cell service was too spotty.

Torruella, a senior at Syracuse, lives in Puerto Rico when not in Syracuse. Her father is safe, but he lost his home outside of San Juan. Everything he owns has been lost or destroyed, and he can’t access his parents’ home because a bridge collapsed, Torruella said.

“It’s hard going to class, trying to concentrate knowing everything you own, everything you know has been destroyed,” Torruella said. “It’s really tough.”

Shortly before Hurricane Maria made landfall, Torruella’s mother escaped the island for the Dominican Republic. Last weekend, Torruella flew there to see her. She wanted to hug her and let her know things will be alright, she said.

“But it was more a reality check,” Torruella said. “We met so many other Puerto Ricans who went to the (Dominican Republic) after the hurricane, in their boats, which is a 10-hour sailing ride, just so they could have access to drinking water. It’s devastating. Everything is so much worse than we think.”

Torruella also is concerned about her grandmother, who has Alzheimer’s and schizophrenia, she said. Torruella said she hopes to go home for Thanksgiving break next month, but doesn’t know if it will be safe.

“I was talking to my best friend … I really want to go home and help,” Torruella said. “She was like, don’t come here, there’s nothing you could do here. There’s no way to get things done here.

“It’s going to be a rough stretch for not even weeks, but months and years.”

Lilibeth Acevedo

Courtesy of Lilibeth Acevedo

Lilibeth Acevedo, a senior marketing and advertising dual major, said she chuckled when looking at a meme about Hurricane Maria before it hit Puerto Rico. Then came the devastation.

Tears started streaming down Acevedo’s face at about 5 a.m. the day of the storm, she said. Her mother had to find shelter in a closet. She couldn’t contact her mother for 48 hours.

Acevedo fell behind in classes. She didn’t want to think about the storm, so she slept to pass time. She couldn’t reach her family, either, she said.

Acevedo, a resident adviser in Lawrinson Hall, has since cut back on her RA duties. She skipped a meeting after the storm, she said, because if asked how she felt, she would cry. During class, she has scrolled through her phone to check on updates from the island.

On Oct. 1, her father, who works for the government, was relocated to Miami. Both of her parents will stay there for two weeks. Acevedo flew to see them this weekend.

To cope with the stress, Acevedo deleted Twitter and Facebook apps from her phone, after President Donald Trump criticized San Juan Mayor Carmen Yulín Cruz. Trump accused Cruz of “poor leadership ability.”

For now, Acevedo doesn’t know if she will go home for Thanksgiving. She wants to visit family and help out. But she also doesn’t want to be another “mouth to feed,” she said.

“We don’t have a tally,” Acevedo said. “Every death hurts, but I’m grateful the majority of us are still standing. At least we have that.”

CORRECTION: In a previous version of this post, Karla Torruella was misidentified as a resident adviser. Lilibeth Acevedo is a resident adviser. The Daily Orange regrets this error.

Published on October 8, 2017 at 9:30 pm

Contact Matthew: [email protected] | @MatthewGut21