computers need cyber power

We expected an ice storm on March 28, 2025. The Weather Channel predicted a severe weather event, and this time, they were correct.

By 7 PM, the power went out. Our basement sump pump stopped working, and water began flooding in. My wife and my youngest son, who is nineteen, jumped into action. While she managed supplies and safety upstairs, he climbed into the crawlspace, carrying buckets of water up a ladder and out onto the back deck—over and over—for nearly two hours.

My oldest son drove his truck through the storm to pick up a generator from his friend, about 30 minutes away. Meanwhile, outside, the trees—forty-foot-tall maples—began cracking and collapsing under the weight of the accumulated ice. Each one sounded like a shotgun blast as it split and fell, echoing through the angry night.

I was outside, connecting cables from our car’s outlet to try and power the sump pump. Just as we were gaining ground, one of those massive trees fell across the driveway, cutting off our only way out.

And still, we pressed on.

By the time my oldest son returned and began setting up the generator, the forest continued to snap and crash around us. The largest maple on our property, towering just ten feet from our house, had begun to lean menacingly. Had it fallen, it could have destroyed half our home.

But together, by 3:00 AM, we had stabilized the situation. No one was hurt. The house was still standing. We were exhausted but safe.

My youngest son decided to sleep in the living room or at least attempt to get some shut eyes. His room was the closest to the giant leaning tree, and it was safer to be as far away as possible from it. He was laying on the couch in the dark, eyes wide open, listening… Listening for the next tree to fall…

You’d think anyone would take a week or two off after a night like that. But I didn’t. I chose to try to contact the school and my class with a limited cell phone connection all day Monday. My chainsaw was put to good use, and we cut up the huge maple to clear the way so I can drive to work on Tuesday.

Why?

Because it’s not the first time life threw me a curveball.

I was working just 20 minutes from the World Trade Center when the towers collapsed. The day after that tragedy, I went to work to teach my class—because I knew they needed me.

Most people will never fully understand what it takes to keep showing up when the world around you is falling apart. But sometimes, you do it anyway—not for recognition, not for glory, but because it’s who you are.

The Moral of the Story:

In moments of crisis, families become teams, homes turn into battlegrounds, and ordinary people rise as leaders—not because they want to, but because they have to. Life doesn’t wait for the perfect time to test your strength—it often challenges you when you’re already stretched thin. But it’s in those moments, when the storms hit hardest and the pressure feels unbearable, that your true character is revealed.

If you can stay calm, stay kind, and keep showing up—even when it would be easier to step away—you become a source of strength for others. You become the anchor in the storm, the light in the dark, the steady hand when the world shakes.

And that’s not just survival. That will become part of your legacy.

Most people have no idea the kind of dedication, strength, and willpower it takes to survive disasters like this and continue functioning despite all of the challenges.

This ice storm, like so many moments in life, was an unexpected test. It struck when we were already balancing work, responsibilities, and personal stress. But as it tore through trees and cut us off from comfort, it also gave us something: a reminder of who we are under pressure.

When life hits hard, and it always does, you have two choices—crumble, or rise.

What I learned that night, and so many nights before, is this:

The strongest people don’t avoid hardship. They’re the ones who can stand together in the storm, adapt, and keep moving forward with purpose and determination.

Attila Farkas