The Foreboding

The Foreboding

Gabriela Soler

04/17/2023

My father and the man whom I was named after, Daniel Fisher Sr., was a politician. My mom, Elizabeth, was an avid environmentalist. Both were interested in making the world a better place, and they passed their values, their habits, and even their dreams to me. They made me feel that I could do anything.

When I was 21, working on my bachelor’s, my mom participated in the ceremony of the signing of the “Clean Air act of 1990.” When I went to my childhood home in Orlando, Florida, to visit her, she told me that from now on, everyone was going to be “eco-friendly”. In hindsight, she was right.

Just as my career was expanding, so was my personal life. After working on my bachelor’s, I did a master’s on Science in Energy Policy and Climate. In 1996, I married a young science teacher in Miami, Florida. Then in ‘98, my daughter, Debbie, was born.

Carl Sagan, an astrophysicist, once said, “You have to know the past to understand the present.” or as my mom has put it, “Learn from yesterday to avoid screwing it up later”. Those are wise words, but no degree, no preparation, no job could have prepared me for what I now refer to as “the Noah’s Flood of the 21st Century.”

This story begins in early April 2022 in Miami, Florida. The state government was starting to give a green light to the involvement of the scientific community when it came to tackling climate change. On a normal workday, my boss called me and told me that I would be working with the representatives of the Sea Level Rise project, a Miami-Dade County project that would counterattack the sea level rise, aka the most exciting project I’ve had to date.

Mary Kelly, my assistant and best friend, came by the office to tell me that she sent an email to bring me up to speed with the latest predictions on the sea level rise by the Southeast Florida Regional Climate Change Compact’s Sea Level Rise Ad Hoc Work Group. For a 55-year-old man like me, who knew climate change like the back of one’s hand before the advent of the Internet, I was more than willing to check other people’s predictions. What I found out shook me to my core.

For one, in the short term, by 2040, the sea level is projected to rise 10 to 17 inches; in the medium term, by 2070, the sea level is expected to rise 21 to 54 inches. Finally, in the long term, by 2120, the sea level is expected to rise 40 to 136 inches. Though all the statistics were alarming, I felt sick to my stomach hearing the short term one. Not too long ago, I had been reading that the maximum sea level rise in Miami was going be six feet, or in this case, 72 inches.

It took me a while to fathom the statistics and their implications. Given that the sea level rise is gradually rising, I felt knots forming in my stomach. However, my mind was more focused in trying to figure out how to prepare Miami for the sea level rise, which seemed to be gradually approaching.

As I did more research, my daughter, Debbie, called me to tell me that her appointment with our family friend and oncologist, Dr. Catalina Mendez, was due in two hours. Thank goodness I have a friendly relationship with my boss. He told me that I could have the appointment, and because of my prompt report on another project, I could have the rest of the week off. However, he also reminded me that I needed to work on my report on the Sea Level Rise. Before leaving for the hospital, I spoke with the guys of the Sea Level Rise Strategy project, and they said that work would begin in a week. Then, out of the office, I was now in what my dad would refer to as “father mode”.

In the parking lot, as I left, my mind was now focusing on Debbie. For most of her life, she sparkled: vivacious, tenacious, vibrant, and ambitious. Now, in recent months, like a balloon depleted from hot air, she was listless and thin, and I had to rush to the bathroom to help her with what seemed to be eternal nosebleeds. I also had to bring bowls to the bathroom, because I tend to gag or vomit when I see blood since I was five. It all happened when my dad once accidentally put a live mouse in a blender. I was so disgusted that to this day I can’t stand watching blood.

On my way home, I spotted Sofia the hobo, who was screaming “The end is near!” “The end is near!” while shaking a bell and with a poser hanging on her neck that read “the end is near” in all caps and in a blood red shade. Normally, one would be somewhat wary about such comments, but Sofia was known for erratic behavior. One week ago, she was screaming about discounts on “Macy’s”.

As I drove my home, I saw my neighbor, Mrs. Karen Smith, who was in front of my way. She turned around and knocked on my car’s window, trying to get my attention. Reluctantly, I rolled down my window. As usual, she presented herself as a mere older woman, who is charming and gives hard candy to children. After a brief, cordial catch up, I knew what would come next: as a tiger that leaps to catch its prey, she and I proceeded to debate about climate change. Like me, Mrs. Smith studied climatology. But it seemed that only one of us had put our education to good use. Though I have no problem with friendly debate, Mrs. Smith has a patronizing attitude and calls everyone who doesn’t follow her ideas “crazy”. Each time she called climate change a “fool’s tale”, I winced and gripped the wheel harder and harder. She then called me crazy, and I replied: “well, if a person is called crazy for following facts and science—rather than a cult of self-righteous, dogmatic lunatics, I’m fine with being called crazy”. Slightly taken aback, she shot back: “I’m hosting a real ED conference this afternoon; it’s about removing climate change from our young people’s curriculum. I’d love to hear your ‘contributions’ to this topic. You could appear on the Miami Herald!”. Saved by the bell, Debbie called me to say that our doctor was ready to see her in the hospital [how long did I speak to that nagging voice? The appointment was due in an hour!]. I dropped my work supplies at home and drove to the hospital.

Now, in the hospital, I saw Debbie. She gave me a weak smile and looked pale, but she still managed to stand up. My heart ached for her. Then, before I knew it, our friend Dr. Catalina Mendez, an oncologist, saw us in her office and asked Debbie for any symptoms. Besides the nosebleeds, the loss of appetite, and the lethargy, Debbie had been bruising easily recently. Dr. Mendez looked extremely concerned and drew some blood. With tears in her eyes, Cata told us that Debbie had leukemia and that she needed to be put on chemotherapy immediately. Despite being advanced, Debbie might survive—probably for some weeks—if treated right away. Debbie, in her twenties and with a mind of her own, decided to go under treatment. I respected her decision.

At Debbie’s request, I went home to bring her clothes and her university things. I wept all the way home and back to the hospital. My mind kept thinking of Debbie’s mom and the love of my life, Shelly, had passed away during childbirth. She never knew her daughter, but Debbie has her mom’s sweet smile and fierce spirit.

After a painful week off, I went from dad mode to climatologist mode. Despite my level-headedness attitude and rational mindset at work, I missed seeing Debbie after work. I regained my focus when I started working with the Sea Level Rise Strategy project. My responsibility was to read the report made by the “Miami Dade County Sea Level Rise Strategy” and make recommendations on how to prepare the Miami community.

Debbie continued to be under treatment for two weeks, which seemed like months. Despite the treatment, which was extremely painful, Debbie remained upbeat and liked to talk with her doctors and nurses. One day before her 24th birthday on May 13, she passed away. I will never forget that, as her physical body was dying, she gave me a notebook and said “I love you. Read it after my passing”. Well, at 4: 00 PM, my daughter passed away. I called our relatives and friends, who were devastated—especially Mark, Debbie’s best friend since childhood and the son of my best friend Mary Kelly. On May 16, we had a funeral, and to honor Debbie and her zest for life, we wore color—instead of black, because we all agreed that she would say that “death is just the beginning of a happy journey without the problems of Earth”. The eulogies were poignant, amusing, and captured the essence of my girl.

After the funeral, I went to the hospital to pick up Debbie’s things. As I continued to pick up, I stumbled upon the notebook that Debbie gave me. As I opened the first page, I had goosebumps by the title: “The Foreboding”. I drove home and started reading it. It had chilling, detailed descriptions of the sea level rise I had been studying at work, but Debbie kept emphasizing that she “desperately” wanted to tell me about the dreams. Yet she did not want to be a burden. She wrote: “I am not one to believe in the meaning of dreams, but given that we are talking about his work, I assume my dreams are telling me something”.

Since I am working on the Sea Level Rise Project, I consider it my duty to talk about these dreams and explain how to prepare.

The first dream that Debbie talked about in her journal was walking in our flooded home. She also said that walking was very challenging, because the weight of the water is very strong. To prevent house floods, it is important to protect the foundation cracks of the house with any material that expands and fills any gaps, such as hydraulic cement. Installing sump pumps, which pump groundwater away from the home through drainage pipes, is also useful. Also, installing flood alert systems is extremely helpful.

In her second night at the hospital, Debbie dreamt of seeing herself sick in bed. She described a pain in her stomach which she called “unbearable”. Then, it dawned on me that the sea was contaminated, increasing the likelihood of diseases. In this case, it seemed she was suffering from gastroenteritis or cholera. To avoid this, as a rule of thumb, always be cognizant of the source of the water, especially the one that one drinks.

One of the dreams that I found to be very upsetting was one with a storm surge, based on a real-life event. On her 21st birthday, Debbie and I went for summer vacations to Kauai, Hawaii, and lodged in the Kauai Beach Resort & Spa, thanks to contest which its prize was a vacation to any place in Hawaii. We were looking forward to go to swimming in the sea in the first day, but a raging storm caught us before we had any chance to swim. Debbie was bitterly disappointed. On her dream, she saw a storm surge that its waters were swallowing a street Miami and a hotel. It is difficult to prevent a storm surge at home, but installing a rainwater management system would save one’s home.

Last, but not least, Debbie saw a large tsunami that came fast and furiously to swallow Miami. She saw it form and wanted to speak about it. She said that the hardest part of the dream was being called out for misinformation. Since a tsunami is a rarity in Miami, I have no specific guidelines to combat it—at home. I was so disturbed by this dream that I felt a need to warn everyone about it and called it “The Noah’s Flood of the 21st Century”.

I stood up from reading her book, threw some clothes on, and ran down the stairs to the door. Before leaving, I looked out the window and couldn’t believe my eyes: it was Mrs. Karen Smith, dragged away by a flood and screaming to the top of her lungs, “I’m sorry for not believing in you!” before disappearing. I blinked twice and kept looking for clues. The upshot? A climatologist’s worst nightmare: seeing the Noah’s flood of the 21st Century, and not doing anything about it.

My father and the man whom I was named after, Daniel Fisher Sr., was a politician. My mom, Elizabeth, was an avid environmentalist. Both were interested in making the world a better place, and they passed their values, their habits, and even their dreams to me. They made me feel that I could do anything.

When I was 21, working on my bachelor’s, my mom participated in the ceremony of the signing of the “Clean Air act of 1990.” When I went to my childhood home in Orlando, Florida, to visit her, she told me that from now on, everyone was going to be “eco-friendly”. In hindsight, she was right.

Just as my career was expanding, so was my personal life. After working on my bachelor’s, I did a master’s on Science in Energy Policy and Climate. In 1996, I married a young science teacher in Miami, Florida. Then in ‘98, my daughter, Debbie, was born.

Carl Sagan, an astrophysicist, once said, “You have to know the past to understand the present.” or as my mom has put it, “Learn from yesterday to avoid screwing it up later”. Those are wise words, but no degree, no preparation, no job could have prepared me for what I now refer to as “the Noah’s Flood of the 21st Century.”

This story begins in early April 2022 in Miami, Florida. The state government was starting to give a green light to the involvement of the scientific community when it came to tackling climate change. On a normal workday, my boss called me and told me that I would be working with the representatives of the Sea Level Rise project, a Miami-Dade County project that would counterattack the sea level rise, aka the most exciting project I’ve had to date.

Mary Kelly, my assistant and best friend, came by the office to tell me that she sent an email to bring me up to speed with the latest predictions on the sea level rise by the Southeast Florida Regional Climate Change Compact’s Sea Level Rise Ad Hoc Work Group. For a 55-year-old man like me, who knew climate change like the back of one’s hand before the advent of the Internet, I was more than willing to check other people’s predictions. What I found out shook me to my core.

For one, in the short term, by 2040, the sea level is projected to rise 10 to 17 inches; in the medium term, by 2070, the sea level is expected to rise 21 to 54 inches. Finally, in the long term, by 2120, the sea level is expected to rise 40 to 136 inches. Though all the statistics were alarming, I felt sick to my stomach hearing the short term one. Not too long ago, I had been reading that the maximum sea level rise in Miami was going be six feet, or in this case, 72 inches.

It took me a while to fathom the statistics and their implications. Given that the sea level rise is gradually rising, I felt knots forming in my stomach. However, my mind was more focused in trying to figure out how to prepare Miami for the sea level rise, which seemed to be gradually approaching.

As I did more research, my daughter, Debbie, called me to tell me that her appointment with our family friend and oncologist, Dr. Catalina Mendez, was due in two hours. Thank goodness I have a friendly relationship with my boss. He told me that I could have the appointment, and because of my prompt report on another project, I could have the rest of the week off. However, he also reminded me that I needed to work on my report on the Sea Level Rise. Before leaving for the hospital, I spoke with the guys of the Sea Level Rise Strategy project, and they said that work would begin in a week. Then, out of the office, I was now in what my dad would refer to as “father mode”.

In the parking lot, as I left, my mind was now focusing on Debbie. For most of her life, she sparkled: vivacious, tenacious, vibrant, and ambitious. Now, in recent months, like a balloon depleted from hot air, she was listless and thin, and I had to rush to the bathroom to help her with what seemed to be eternal nosebleeds. I also had to bring bowls to the bathroom, because I tend to gag or vomit when I see blood since I was five. It all happened when my dad once accidentally put a live mouse in a blender. I was so disgusted that to this day I can’t stand watching blood.

On my way home, I spotted Sofia the hobo, who was screaming “The end is near!” “The end is near!” while shaking a bell and with a poser hanging on her neck that read “the end is near” in all caps and in a blood red shade. Normally, one would be somewhat wary about such comments, but Sofia was known for erratic behavior. One week ago, she was screaming about discounts on “Macy’s”.

As I drove my home, I saw my neighbor, Mrs. Karen Smith, who was in front of my way. She turned around and knocked on my car’s window, trying to get my attention. Reluctantly, I rolled down my window. As usual, she presented herself as a mere older woman, who is charming and gives hard candy to children. After a brief, cordial catch up, I knew what would come next: as a tiger that leaps to catch its prey, she and I proceeded to debate about climate change. Like me, Mrs. Smith studied climatology. But it seemed that only one of us had put our education to good use. Though I have no problem with friendly debate, Mrs. Smith has a patronizing attitude and calls everyone who doesn’t follow her ideas “crazy”. Each time she called climate change a “fool’s tale”, I winced and gripped the wheel harder and harder. She then called me crazy, and I replied: “well, if a person is called crazy for following facts and science—rather than a cult of self-righteous, dogmatic lunatics, I’m fine with being called crazy”. Slightly taken aback, she shot back: “I’m hosting a real ED conference this afternoon; it’s about removing climate change from our young people’s curriculum. I’d love to hear your ‘contributions’ to this topic. You could appear on the Miami Herald!”. Saved by the bell, Debbie called me to say that our doctor was ready to see her in the hospital [how long did I speak to that nagging voice? The appointment was due in an hour!]. I dropped my work supplies at home and drove to the hospital.

Now, in the hospital, I saw Debbie. She gave me a weak smile and looked pale, but she still managed to stand up. My heart ached for her. Then, before I knew it, our friend Dr. Catalina Mendez, an oncologist, saw us in her office and asked Debbie for any symptoms. Besides the nosebleeds, the loss of appetite, and the lethargy, Debbie had been bruising easily recently. Dr. Mendez looked extremely concerned and drew some blood. With tears in her eyes, Cata told us that Debbie had leukemia and that she needed to be put on chemotherapy immediately. Despite being advanced, Debbie might survive—probably for some weeks—if treated right away. Debbie, in her twenties and with a mind of her own, decided to go under treatment. I respected her decision.

At Debbie’s request, I went home to bring her clothes and her university things. I wept all the way home and back to the hospital. My mind kept thinking of Debbie’s mom and the love of my life, Shelly, had passed away during childbirth. She never knew her daughter, but Debbie has her mom’s sweet smile and fierce spirit.

After a painful week off, I went from dad mode to climatologist mode. Despite my level-headedness attitude and rational mindset at work, I missed seeing Debbie after work. I regained my focus when I started working with the Sea Level Rise Strategy project. My responsibility was to read the report made by the “Miami Dade County Sea Level Rise Strategy” and make recommendations on how to prepare the Miami community.

Debbie continued to be under treatment for two weeks, which seemed like months. Despite the treatment, which was extremely painful, Debbie remained upbeat and liked to talk with her doctors and nurses. One day before her 24th birthday on May 13, she passed away. I will never forget that, as her physical body was dying, she gave me a notebook and said “I love you. Read it after my passing”. Well, at 4: 00 PM, my daughter passed away. I called our relatives and friends, who were devastated—especially Mark, Debbie’s best friend since childhood and the son of my best friend Mary Kelly. On May 16, we had a funeral, and to honor Debbie and her zest for life, we wore color—instead of black, because we all agreed that she would say that “death is just the beginning of a happy journey without the problems of Earth”. The eulogies were poignant, amusing, and captured the essence of my girl.

After the funeral, I went to the hospital to pick up Debbie’s things. As I continued to pick up, I stumbled upon the notebook that Debbie gave me. As I opened the first page, I had goosebumps by the title: “The Foreboding”. I drove home and started reading it. It had chilling, detailed descriptions of the sea level rise I had been studying at work, but Debbie kept emphasizing that she “desperately” wanted to tell me about the dreams. Yet she did not want to be a burden. She wrote: “I am not one to believe in the meaning of dreams, but given that we are talking about his work, I assume my dreams are telling me something”.

Since I am working on the Sea Level Rise Project, I consider it my duty to talk about these dreams and explain how to prepare.

The first dream that Debbie talked about in her journal was walking in our flooded home. She also said that walking was very challenging, because the weight of the water is very strong. To prevent house floods, it is important to protect the foundation cracks of the house with any material that expands and fills any gaps, such as hydraulic cement. Installing sump pumps, which pump groundwater away from the home through drainage pipes, is also useful. Also, installing flood alert systems is extremely helpful.

In her second night at the hospital, Debbie dreamt of seeing herself sick in bed. She described a pain in her stomach which she called “unbearable”. Then, it dawned on me that the sea was contaminated, increasing the likelihood of diseases. In this case, it seemed she was suffering from gastroenteritis or cholera. To avoid this, as a rule of thumb, always be cognizant of the source of the water, especially the one that one drinks.

One of the dreams that I found to be very upsetting was one with a storm surge, based on a real-life event. On her 21st birthday, Debbie and I went for summer vacations to Kauai, Hawaii, and lodged in the Kauai Beach Resort & Spa, thanks to contest which its prize was a vacation to any place in Hawaii. We were looking forward to go to swimming in the sea in the first day, but a raging storm caught us before we had any chance to swim. Debbie was bitterly disappointed. On her dream, she saw a storm surge that its waters were swallowing a street Miami and a hotel. It is difficult to prevent a storm surge at home, but installing a rainwater management system would save one’s home.

Last, but not least, Debbie saw a large tsunami that came fast and furiously to swallow Miami. She saw it form and wanted to speak about it. She said that the hardest part of the dream was being called out for misinformation. Since a tsunami is a rarity in Miami, I have no specific guidelines to combat it—at home. I was so disturbed by this dream that I felt a need to warn everyone about it and called it “The Noah’s Flood of the 21st Century”.

I stood up from reading her book, threw some clothes on, and ran down the stairs to the door. Before leaving, I looked out the window and couldn’t believe my eyes: it was Mrs. Karen Smith, dragged away by a flood and screaming to the top of her lungs, “I’m sorry for not believing in you!” before disappearing. I blinked twice and kept looking for clues. The upshot? A climatologist’s worst nightmare: seeing the Noah’s flood of the 21st Century, and not doing anything about it.


My father and the man whom I was named after, Daniel Fisher Sr., was a politician. My mom, Elizabeth, was an avid environmentalist. Both were interested in making the world a better place, and they passed their values, their habits, and even their dreams to me. They made me feel that I could do anything.

When I was 21, working on my bachelor’s, my mom participated in the ceremony of the signing of the “Clean Air act of 1990.” When I went to my childhood home in Orlando, Florida, to visit her, she told me that from now on, everyone was going to be “eco-friendly”. In hindsight, she was right.

Just as my career was expanding, so was my personal life. After working on my bachelor’s, I did a master’s on Science in Energy Policy and Climate. In 1996, I married a young science teacher in Miami, Florida. Then in ‘98, my daughter, Debbie, was born.

Carl Sagan, an astrophysicist, once said, “You have to know the past to understand the present.” or as my mom has put it, “Learn from yesterday to avoid screwing it up later”. Those are wise words, but no degree, no preparation, no job could have prepared me for what I now refer to as “the Noah’s Flood of the 21st Century.”

This story begins in early April 2022 in Miami, Florida. The state government was starting to give a green light to the involvement of the scientific community when it came to tackling climate change. On a normal workday, my boss called me and told me that I would be working with the representatives of the Sea Level Rise project, a Miami-Dade County project that would counterattack the sea level rise, aka the most exciting project I’ve had to date.

Mary Kelly, my assistant and best friend, came by the office to tell me that she sent an email to bring me up to speed with the latest predictions on the sea level rise by the Southeast Florida Regional Climate Change Compact’s Sea Level Rise Ad Hoc Work Group. For a 55-year-old man like me, who knew climate change like the back of one’s hand before the advent of the Internet, I was more than willing to check other people’s predictions. What I found out shook me to my core.

For one, in the short term, by 2040, the sea level is projected to rise 10 to 17 inches; in the medium term, by 2070, the sea level is expected to rise 21 to 54 inches. Finally, in the long term, by 2120, the sea level is expected to rise 40 to 136 inches. Though all the statistics were alarming, I felt sick to my stomach hearing the short term one. Not too long ago, I had been reading that the maximum sea level rise in Miami was going be six feet, or in this case, 72 inches.

It took me a while to fathom the statistics and their implications. Given that the sea level rise is gradually rising, I felt knots forming in my stomach. However, my mind was more focused in trying to figure out how to prepare Miami for the sea level rise, which seemed to be gradually approaching.

As I did more research, my daughter, Debbie, called me to tell me that her appointment with our family friend and oncologist, Dr. Catalina Mendez, was due in two hours. Thank goodness I have a friendly relationship with my boss. He told me that I could have the appointment, and because of my prompt report on another project, I could have the rest of the week off. However, he also reminded me that I needed to work on my report on the Sea Level Rise. Before leaving for the hospital, I spoke with the guys of the Sea Level Rise Strategy project, and they said that work would begin in a week. Then, out of the office, I was now in what my dad would refer to as “father mode”.

In the parking lot, as I left, my mind was now focusing on Debbie. For most of her life, she sparkled: vivacious, tenacious, vibrant, and ambitious. Now, in recent months, like a balloon depleted from hot air, she was listless and thin, and I had to rush to the bathroom to help her with what seemed to be eternal nosebleeds. I also had to bring bowls to the bathroom, because I tend to gag or vomit when I see blood since I was five. It all happened when my dad once accidentally put a live mouse in a blender. I was so disgusted that to this day I can’t stand watching blood.

On my way home, I spotted Sofia the hobo, who was screaming “The end is near!” “The end is near!” while shaking a bell and with a poser hanging on her neck that read “the end is near” in all caps and in a blood red shade. Normally, one would be somewhat wary about such comments, but Sofia was known for erratic behavior. One week ago, she was screaming about discounts on “Macy’s”.

As I drove my home, I saw my neighbor, Mrs. Karen Smith, who was in front of my way. She turned around and knocked on my car’s window, trying to get my attention. Reluctantly, I rolled down my window. As usual, she presented herself as a mere older woman, who is charming and gives hard candy to children. After a brief, cordial catch up, I knew what would come next: as a tiger that leaps to catch its prey, she and I proceeded to debate about climate change. Like me, Mrs. Smith studied climatology. But it seemed that only one of us had put our education to good use. Though I have no problem with friendly debate, Mrs. Smith has a patronizing attitude and calls everyone who doesn’t follow her ideas “crazy”. Each time she called climate change a “fool’s tale”, I winced and gripped the wheel harder and harder. She then called me crazy, and I replied: “well, if a person is called crazy for following facts and science—rather than a cult of self-righteous, dogmatic lunatics, I’m fine with being called crazy”. Slightly taken aback, she shot back: “I’m hosting a real ED conference this afternoon; it’s about removing climate change from our young people’s curriculum. I’d love to hear your ‘contributions’ to this topic. You could appear on the Miami Herald!”. Saved by the bell, Debbie called me to say that our doctor was ready to see her in the hospital [how long did I speak to that nagging voice? The appointment was due in an hour!]. I dropped my work supplies at home and drove to the hospital.

Now, in the hospital, I saw Debbie. She gave me a weak smile and looked pale, but she still managed to stand up. My heart ached for her. Then, before I knew it, our friend Dr. Catalina Mendez, an oncologist, saw us in her office and asked Debbie for any symptoms. Besides the nosebleeds, the loss of appetite, and the lethargy, Debbie had been bruising easily recently. Dr. Mendez looked extremely concerned and drew some blood. With tears in her eyes, Cata told us that Debbie had leukemia and that she needed to be put on chemotherapy immediately. Despite being advanced, Debbie might survive—probably for some weeks—if treated right away. Debbie, in her twenties and with a mind of her own, decided to go under treatment. I respected her decision.

At Debbie’s request, I went home to bring her clothes and her university things. I wept all the way home and back to the hospital. My mind kept thinking of Debbie’s mom and the love of my life, Shelly, had passed away during childbirth. She never knew her daughter, but Debbie has her mom’s sweet smile and fierce spirit.

After a painful week off, I went from dad mode to climatologist mode. Despite my level-headedness attitude and rational mindset at work, I missed seeing Debbie after work. I regained my focus when I started working with the Sea Level Rise Strategy project. My responsibility was to read the report made by the “Miami Dade County Sea Level Rise Strategy” and make recommendations on how to prepare the Miami community.

Debbie continued to be under treatment for two weeks, which seemed like months. Despite the treatment, which was extremely painful, Debbie remained upbeat and liked to talk with her doctors and nurses. One day before her 24th birthday on May 13, she passed away. I will never forget that, as her physical body was dying, she gave me a notebook and said “I love you. Read it after my passing”. Well, at 4: 00 PM, my daughter passed away. I called our relatives and friends, who were devastated—especially Mark, Debbie’s best friend since childhood and the son of my best friend Mary Kelly. On May 16, we had a funeral, and to honor Debbie and her zest for life, we wore color—instead of black, because we all agreed that she would say that “death is just the beginning of a happy journey without the problems of Earth”. The eulogies were poignant, amusing, and captured the essence of my girl.

After the funeral, I went to the hospital to pick up Debbie’s things. As I continued to pick up, I stumbled upon the notebook that Debbie gave me. As I opened the first page, I had goosebumps by the title: “The Foreboding”. I drove home and started reading it. It had chilling, detailed descriptions of the sea level rise I had been studying at work, but Debbie kept emphasizing that she “desperately” wanted to tell me about the dreams. Yet she did not want to be a burden. She wrote: “I am not one to believe in the meaning of dreams, but given that we are talking about his work, I assume my dreams are telling me something”.

Since I am working on the Sea Level Rise Project, I consider it my duty to talk about these dreams and explain how to prepare.

The first dream that Debbie talked about in her journal was walking in our flooded home. She also said that walking was very challenging, because the weight of the water is very strong. To prevent house floods, it is important to protect the foundation cracks of the house with any material that expands and fills any gaps, such as hydraulic cement. Installing sump pumps, which pump groundwater away from the home through drainage pipes, is also useful. Also, installing flood alert systems is extremely helpful.

In her second night at the hospital, Debbie dreamt of seeing herself sick in bed. She described a pain in her stomach which she called “unbearable”. Then, it dawned on me that the sea was contaminated, increasing the likelihood of diseases. In this case, it seemed she was suffering from gastroenteritis or cholera. To avoid this, as a rule of thumb, always be cognizant of the source of the water, especially the one that one drinks.

One of the dreams that I found to be very upsetting was one with a storm surge, based on a real-life event. On her 21st birthday, Debbie and I went for summer vacations to Kauai, Hawaii, and lodged in the Kauai Beach Resort & Spa, thanks to contest which its prize was a vacation to any place in Hawaii. We were looking forward to go to swimming in the sea in the first day, but a raging storm caught us before we had any chance to swim. Debbie was bitterly disappointed. On her dream, she saw a storm surge that its waters were swallowing a street Miami and a hotel. It is difficult to prevent a storm surge at home, but installing a rainwater management system would save one’s home.

Last, but not least, Debbie saw a large tsunami that came fast and furiously to swallow Miami. She saw it form and wanted to speak about it. She said that the hardest part of the dream was being called out for misinformation. Since a tsunami is a rarity in Miami, I have no specific guidelines to combat it—at home. I was so disturbed by this dream that I felt a need to warn everyone about it and called it “The Noah’s Flood of the 21st Century”.

I stood up from reading her book, threw some clothes on, and ran down the stairs to the door. Before leaving, I looked out the window and couldn’t believe my eyes: it was Mrs. Karen Smith, dragged away by a flood and screaming to the top of her lungs, “I’m sorry for not believing in you!” before disappearing. I blinked twice and kept looking for clues. The upshot? A climatologist’s worst nightmare: seeing the Noah’s flood of the 21st Century, and not doing anything about it.


My father and the man whom I was named after, Daniel Fisher Sr., was a politician. My mom, Elizabeth, was an avid environmentalist. Both were interested in making the world a better place, and they passed their values, their habits, and even their dreams to me. They made me feel that I could do anything.

When I was 21, working on my bachelor’s, my mom participated in the ceremony of the signing of the “Clean Air act of 1990.” When I went to my childhood home in Orlando, Florida, to visit her, she told me that from now on, everyone was going to be “eco-friendly”. In hindsight, she was right.

Just as my career was expanding, so was my personal life. After working on my bachelor’s, I did a master’s on Science in Energy Policy and Climate. In 1996, I married a young science teacher in Miami, Florida. Then in ‘98, my daughter, Debbie, was born.

Carl Sagan, an astrophysicist, once said, “You have to know the past to understand the present.” or as my mom has put it, “Learn from yesterday to avoid screwing it up later”. Those are wise words, but no degree, no preparation, no job could have prepared me for what I now refer to as “the Noah’s Flood of the 21st Century.”

This story begins in early April 2022 in Miami, Florida. The state government was starting to give a green light to the involvement of the scientific community when it came to tackling climate change. On a normal workday, my boss called me and told me that I would be working with the representatives of the Sea Level Rise project, a Miami-Dade County project that would counterattack the sea level rise, aka the most exciting project I’ve had to date.

Mary Kelly, my assistant and best friend, came by the office to tell me that she sent an email to bring me up to speed with the latest predictions on the sea level rise by the Southeast Florida Regional Climate Change Compact’s Sea Level Rise Ad Hoc Work Group. For a 55-year-old man like me, who knew climate change like the back of one’s hand before the advent of the Internet, I was more than willing to check other people’s predictions. What I found out shook me to my core.

For one, in the short term, by 2040, the sea level is projected to rise 10 to 17 inches; in the medium term, by 2070, the sea level is expected to rise 21 to 54 inches. Finally, in the long term, by 2120, the sea level is expected to rise 40 to 136 inches. Though all the statistics were alarming, I felt sick to my stomach hearing the short term one. Not too long ago, I had been reading that the maximum sea level rise in Miami was going be six feet, or in this case, 72 inches.

It took me a while to fathom the statistics and their implications. Given that the sea level rise is gradually rising, I felt knots forming in my stomach. However, my mind was more focused in trying to figure out how to prepare Miami for the sea level rise, which seemed to be gradually approaching.

As I did more research, my daughter, Debbie, called me to tell me that her appointment with our family friend and oncologist, Dr. Catalina Mendez, was due in two hours. Thank goodness I have a friendly relationship with my boss. He told me that I could have the appointment, and because of my prompt report on another project, I could have the rest of the week off. However, he also reminded me that I needed to work on my report on the Sea Level Rise. Before leaving for the hospital, I spoke with the guys of the Sea Level Rise Strategy project, and they said that work would begin in a week. Then, out of the office, I was now in what my dad would refer to as “father mode”.

In the parking lot, as I left, my mind was now focusing on Debbie. For most of her life, she sparkled: vivacious, tenacious, vibrant, and ambitious. Now, in recent months, like a balloon depleted from hot air, she was listless and thin, and I had to rush to the bathroom to help her with what seemed to be eternal nosebleeds. I also had to bring bowls to the bathroom, because I tend to gag or vomit when I see blood since I was five. It all happened when my dad once accidentally put a live mouse in a blender. I was so disgusted that to this day I can’t stand watching blood.

On my way home, I spotted Sofia the hobo, who was screaming “The end is near!” “The end is near!” while shaking a bell and with a poser hanging on her neck that read “the end is near” in all caps and in a blood red shade. Normally, one would be somewhat wary about such comments, but Sofia was known for erratic behavior. One week ago, she was screaming about discounts on “Macy’s”.

As I drove my home, I saw my neighbor, Mrs. Karen Smith, who was in front of my way. She turned around and knocked on my car’s window, trying to get my attention. Reluctantly, I rolled down my window. As usual, she presented herself as a mere older woman, who is charming and gives hard candy to children. After a brief, cordial catch up, I knew what would come next: as a tiger that leaps to catch its prey, she and I proceeded to debate about climate change. Like me, Mrs. Smith studied climatology. But it seemed that only one of us had put our education to good use. Though I have no problem with friendly debate, Mrs. Smith has a patronizing attitude and calls everyone who doesn’t follow her ideas “crazy”. Each time she called climate change a “fool’s tale”, I winced and gripped the wheel harder and harder. She then called me crazy, and I replied: “well, if a person is called crazy for following facts and science—rather than a cult of self-righteous, dogmatic lunatics, I’m fine with being called crazy”. Slightly taken aback, she shot back: “I’m hosting a real ED conference this afternoon; it’s about removing climate change from our young people’s curriculum. I’d love to hear your ‘contributions’ to this topic. You could appear on the Miami Herald!”. Saved by the bell, Debbie called me to say that our doctor was ready to see her in the hospital [how long did I speak to that nagging voice? The appointment was due in an hour!]. I dropped my work supplies at home and drove to the hospital.

Now, in the hospital, I saw Debbie. She gave me a weak smile and looked pale, but she still managed to stand up. My heart ached for her. Then, before I knew it, our friend Dr. Catalina Mendez, an oncologist, saw us in her office and asked Debbie for any symptoms. Besides the nosebleeds, the loss of appetite, and the lethargy, Debbie had been bruising easily recently. Dr. Mendez looked extremely concerned and drew some blood. With tears in her eyes, Cata told us that Debbie had leukemia and that she needed to be put on chemotherapy immediately. Despite being advanced, Debbie might survive—probably for some weeks—if treated right away. Debbie, in her twenties and with a mind of her own, decided to go under treatment. I respected her decision.

At Debbie’s request, I went home to bring her clothes and her university things. I wept all the way home and back to the hospital. My mind kept thinking of Debbie’s mom and the love of my life, Shelly, had passed away during childbirth. She never knew her daughter, but Debbie has her mom’s sweet smile and fierce spirit.

After a painful week off, I went from dad mode to climatologist mode. Despite my level-headedness attitude and rational mindset at work, I missed seeing Debbie after work. I regained my focus when I started working with the Sea Level Rise Strategy project. My responsibility was to read the report made by the “Miami Dade County Sea Level Rise Strategy” and make recommendations on how to prepare the Miami community.

Debbie continued to be under treatment for two weeks, which seemed like months. Despite the treatment, which was extremely painful, Debbie remained upbeat and liked to talk with her doctors and nurses. One day before her 24th birthday on May 13, she passed away. I will never forget that, as her physical body was dying, she gave me a notebook and said “I love you. Read it after my passing”. Well, at 4: 00 PM, my daughter passed away. I called our relatives and friends, who were devastated—especially Mark, Debbie’s best friend since childhood and the son of my best friend Mary Kelly. On May 16, we had a funeral, and to honor Debbie and her zest for life, we wore color—instead of black, because we all agreed that she would say that “death is just the beginning of a happy journey without the problems of Earth”. The eulogies were poignant, amusing, and captured the essence of my girl.

After the funeral, I went to the hospital to pick up Debbie’s things. As I continued to pick up, I stumbled upon the notebook that Debbie gave me. As I opened the first page, I had goosebumps by the title: “The Foreboding”. I drove home and started reading it. It had chilling, detailed descriptions of the sea level rise I had been studying at work, but Debbie kept emphasizing that she “desperately” wanted to tell me about the dreams. Yet she did not want to be a burden. She wrote: “I am not one to believe in the meaning of dreams, but given that we are talking about his work, I assume my dreams are telling me something”.

Since I am working on the Sea Level Rise Project, I consider it my duty to talk about these dreams and explain how to prepare.

The first dream that Debbie talked about in her journal was walking in our flooded home. She also said that walking was very challenging, because the weight of the water is very strong. To prevent house floods, it is important to protect the foundation cracks of the house with any material that expands and fills any gaps, such as hydraulic cement. Installing sump pumps, which pump groundwater away from the home through drainage pipes, is also useful. Also, installing flood alert systems is extremely helpful.

In her second night at the hospital, Debbie dreamt of seeing herself sick in bed. She described a pain in her stomach which she called “unbearable”. Then, it dawned on me that the sea was contaminated, increasing the likelihood of diseases. In this case, it seemed she was suffering from gastroenteritis or cholera. To avoid this, as a rule of thumb, always be cognizant of the source of the water, especially the one that one drinks.

One of the dreams that I found to be very upsetting was one with a storm surge, based on a real-life event. On her 21st birthday, Debbie and I went for summer vacations to Kauai, Hawaii, and lodged in the Kauai Beach Resort & Spa, thanks to contest which its prize was a vacation to any place in Hawaii. We were looking forward to go to swimming in the sea in the first day, but a raging storm caught us before we had any chance to swim. Debbie was bitterly disappointed. On her dream, she saw a storm surge that its waters were swallowing a street Miami and a hotel. It is difficult to prevent a storm surge at home, but installing a rainwater management system would save one’s home.

Last, but not least, Debbie saw a large tsunami that came fast and furiously to swallow Miami. She saw it form and wanted to speak about it. She said that the hardest part of the dream was being called out for misinformation. Since a tsunami is a rarity in Miami, I have no specific guidelines to combat it—at home. I was so disturbed by this dream that I felt a need to warn everyone about it and called it “The Noah’s Flood of the 21st Century”.

I stood up from reading her book, threw some clothes on, and ran down the stairs to the door. Before leaving, I looked out the window and couldn’t believe my eyes: it was Mrs. Karen Smith, dragged away by a flood and screaming to the top of her lungs, “I’m sorry for not believing in you!” before disappearing. I blinked twice and kept looking for clues. The upshot? A climatologist’s worst nightmare: seeing the Noah’s flood of the 21st Century, and not doing anything about it.

My father and the man whom I was named after, Daniel Fisher Sr., was a politician. My mom, Elizabeth, was an avid environmentalist. Both were interested in making the world a better place, and they passed their values, their habits, and even their dreams to me. They made me feel that I could do anything.

When I was 21, working on my bachelor’s, my mom participated in the ceremony of the signing of the “Clean Air act of 1990.” When I went to my childhood home in Orlando, Florida, to visit her, she told me that from now on, everyone was going to be “eco-friendly”. In hindsight, she was right.

Just as my career was expanding, so was my personal life. After working on my bachelor’s, I did a master’s on Science in Energy Policy and Climate. In 1996, I married a young science teacher in Miami, Florida. Then in ‘98, my daughter, Debbie, was born.

Carl Sagan, an astrophysicist, once said, “You have to know the past to understand the present.” or as my mom has put it, “Learn from yesterday to avoid screwing it up later”. Those are wise words, but no degree, no preparation, no job could have prepared me for what I now refer to as “the Noah’s Flood of the 21st Century.”

This story begins in early April 2022 in Miami, Florida. The state government was starting to give a green light to the involvement of the scientific community when it came to tackling climate change. On a normal workday, my boss called me and told me that I would be working with the representatives of the Sea Level Rise project, a Miami-Dade County project that would counterattack the sea level rise, aka the most exciting project I’ve had to date.

Mary Kelly, my assistant and best friend, came by the office to tell me that she sent an email to bring me up to speed with the latest predictions on the sea level rise by the Southeast Florida Regional Climate Change Compact’s Sea Level Rise Ad Hoc Work Group. For a 55-year-old man like me, who knew climate change like the back of one’s hand before the advent of the Internet, I was more than willing to check other people’s predictions. What I found out shook me to my core.

For one, in the short term, by 2040, the sea level is projected to rise 10 to 17 inches; in the medium term, by 2070, the sea level is expected to rise 21 to 54 inches. Finally, in the long term, by 2120, the sea level is expected to rise 40 to 136 inches. Though all the statistics were alarming, I felt sick to my stomach hearing the short term one. Not too long ago, I had been reading that the maximum sea level rise in Miami was going be six feet, or in this case, 72 inches.

It took me a while to fathom the statistics and their implications. Given that the sea level rise is gradually rising, I felt knots forming in my stomach. However, my mind was more focused in trying to figure out how to prepare Miami for the sea level rise, which seemed to be gradually approaching.

As I did more research, my daughter, Debbie, called me to tell me that her appointment with our family friend and oncologist, Dr. Catalina Mendez, was due in two hours. Thank goodness I have a friendly relationship with my boss. He told me that I could have the appointment, and because of my prompt report on another project, I could have the rest of the week off. However, he also reminded me that I needed to work on my report on the Sea Level Rise. Before leaving for the hospital, I spoke with the guys of the Sea Level Rise Strategy project, and they said that work would begin in a week. Then, out of the office, I was now in what my dad would refer to as “father mode”.

In the parking lot, as I left, my mind was now focusing on Debbie. For most of her life, she sparkled: vivacious, tenacious, vibrant, and ambitious. Now, in recent months, like a balloon depleted from hot air, she was listless and thin, and I had to rush to the bathroom to help her with what seemed to be eternal nosebleeds. I also had to bring bowls to the bathroom, because I tend to gag or vomit when I see blood since I was five. It all happened when my dad once accidentally put a live mouse in a blender. I was so disgusted that to this day I can’t stand watching blood.

On my way home, I spotted Sofia the hobo, who was screaming “The end is near!” “The end is near!” while shaking a bell and with a poser hanging on her neck that read “the end is near” in all caps and in a blood red shade. Normally, one would be somewhat wary about such comments, but Sofia was known for erratic behavior. One week ago, she was screaming about discounts on “Macy’s”.

As I drove my home, I saw my neighbor, Mrs. Karen Smith, who was in front of my way. She turned around and knocked on my car’s window, trying to get my attention. Reluctantly, I rolled down my window. As usual, she presented herself as a mere older woman, who is charming and gives hard candy to children. After a brief, cordial catch up, I knew what would come next: as a tiger that leaps to catch its prey, she and I proceeded to debate about climate change. Like me, Mrs. Smith studied climatology. But it seemed that only one of us had put our education to good use. Though I have no problem with friendly debate, Mrs. Smith has a patronizing attitude and calls everyone who doesn’t follow her ideas “crazy”. Each time she called climate change a “fool’s tale”, I winced and gripped the wheel harder and harder. She then called me crazy, and I replied: “well, if a person is called crazy for following facts and science—rather than a cult of self-righteous, dogmatic lunatics, I’m fine with being called crazy”. Slightly taken aback, she shot back: “I’m hosting a real ED conference this afternoon; it’s about removing climate change from our young people’s curriculum. I’d love to hear your ‘contributions’ to this topic. You could appear on the Miami Herald!”. Saved by the bell, Debbie called me to say that our doctor was ready to see her in the hospital [how long did I speak to that nagging voice? The appointment was due in an hour!]. I dropped my work supplies at home and drove to the hospital.

Now, in the hospital, I saw Debbie. She gave me a weak smile and looked pale, but she still managed to stand up. My heart ached for her. Then, before I knew it, our friend Dr. Catalina Mendez, an oncologist, saw us in her office and asked Debbie for any symptoms. Besides the nosebleeds, the loss of appetite, and the lethargy, Debbie had been bruising easily recently. Dr. Mendez looked extremely concerned and drew some blood. With tears in her eyes, Cata told us that Debbie had leukemia and that she needed to be put on chemotherapy immediately. Despite being advanced, Debbie might survive—probably for some weeks—if treated right away. Debbie, in her twenties and with a mind of her own, decided to go under treatment. I respected her decision.

At Debbie’s request, I went home to bring her clothes and her university things. I wept all the way home and back to the hospital. My mind kept thinking of Debbie’s mom and the love of my life, Shelly, had passed away during childbirth. She never knew her daughter, but Debbie has her mom’s sweet smile and fierce spirit.

After a painful week off, I went from dad mode to climatologist mode. Despite my level-headedness attitude and rational mindset at work, I missed seeing Debbie after work. I regained my focus when I started working with the Sea Level Rise Strategy project. My responsibility was to read the report made by the “Miami Dade County Sea Level Rise Strategy” and make recommendations on how to prepare the Miami community.

Debbie continued to be under treatment for two weeks, which seemed like months. Despite the treatment, which was extremely painful, Debbie remained upbeat and liked to talk with her doctors and nurses. One day before her 24th birthday on May 13, she passed away. I will never forget that, as her physical body was dying, she gave me a notebook and said “I love you. Read it after my passing”. Well, at 4: 00 PM, my daughter passed away. I called our relatives and friends, who were devastated—especially Mark, Debbie’s best friend since childhood and the son of my best friend Mary Kelly. On May 16, we had a funeral, and to honor Debbie and her zest for life, we wore color—instead of black, because we all agreed that she would say that “death is just the beginning of a happy journey without the problems of Earth”. The eulogies were poignant, amusing, and captured the essence of my girl.

After the funeral, I went to the hospital to pick up Debbie’s things. As I continued to pick up, I stumbled upon the notebook that Debbie gave me. As I opened the first page, I had goosebumps by the title: “The Foreboding”. I drove home and started reading it. It had chilling, detailed descriptions of the sea level rise I had been studying at work, but Debbie kept emphasizing that she “desperately” wanted to tell me about the dreams. Yet she did not want to be a burden. She wrote: “I am not one to believe in the meaning of dreams, but given that we are talking about his work, I assume my dreams are telling me something”.

Since I am working on the Sea Level Rise Project, I consider it my duty to talk about these dreams and explain how to prepare.

The first dream that Debbie talked about in her journal was walking in our flooded home. She also said that walking was very challenging, because the weight of the water is very strong. To prevent house floods, it is important to protect the foundation cracks of the house with any material that expands and fills any gaps, such as hydraulic cement. Installing sump pumps, which pump groundwater away from the home through drainage pipes, is also useful. Also, installing flood alert systems is extremely helpful.

In her second night at the hospital, Debbie dreamt of seeing herself sick in bed. She described a pain in her stomach which she called “unbearable”. Then, it dawned on me that the sea was contaminated, increasing the likelihood of diseases. In this case, it seemed she was suffering from gastroenteritis or cholera. To avoid this, as a rule of thumb, always be cognizant of the source of the water, especially the one that one drinks.

One of the dreams that I found to be very upsetting was one with a storm surge, based on a real-life event. On her 21st birthday, Debbie and I went for summer vacations to Kauai, Hawaii, and lodged in the Kauai Beach Resort & Spa, thanks to contest which its prize was a vacation to any place in Hawaii. We were looking forward to go to swimming in the sea in the first day, but a raging storm caught us before we had any chance to swim. Debbie was bitterly disappointed. On her dream, she saw a storm surge that its waters were swallowing a street Miami and a hotel. It is difficult to prevent a storm surge at home, but installing a rainwater management system would save one’s home.

Last, but not least, Debbie saw a large tsunami that came fast and furiously to swallow Miami. She saw it form and wanted to speak about it. She said that the hardest part of the dream was being called out for misinformation. Since a tsunami is a rarity in Miami, I have no specific guidelines to combat it—at home. I was so disturbed by this dream that I felt a need to warn everyone about it and called it “The Noah’s Flood of the 21st Century”.

I stood up from reading her book, threw some clothes on, and ran down the stairs to the door. Before leaving, I looked out the window and couldn’t believe my eyes: it was Mrs. Karen Smith, dragged away by a flood and screaming to the top of her lungs, “I’m sorry for not believing in you!” before disappearing. I blinked twice and kept looking for clues. The upshot? A climatologist’s worst nightmare: seeing the Noah’s flood of the 21st Century, and not doing anything about it.

My father and the man whom I was named after, Daniel Fisher Sr., was a politician. My mom, Elizabeth, was an avid environmentalist. Both were interested in making the world a better place, and they passed their values, their habits, and even their dreams to me. They made me feel that I could do anything.

When I was 21, working on my bachelor’s, my mom participated in the ceremony of the signing of the “Clean Air act of 1990.” When I went to my childhood home in Orlando, Florida, to visit her, she told me that from now on, everyone was going to be “eco-friendly”. In hindsight, she was right.

Just as my career was expanding, so was my personal life. After working on my bachelor’s, I did a master’s on Science in Energy Policy and Climate. In 1996, I married a young science teacher in Miami, Florida. Then in ‘98, my daughter, Debbie, was born.

Carl Sagan, an astrophysicist, once said, “You have to know the past to understand the present.” or as my mom has put it, “Learn from yesterday to avoid screwing it up later”. Those are wise words, but no degree, no preparation, no job could have prepared me for what I now refer to as “the Noah’s Flood of the 21st Century.”

This story begins in early April 2022 in Miami, Florida. The state government was starting to give a green light to the involvement of the scientific community when it came to tackling climate change. On a normal workday, my boss called me and told me that I would be working with the representatives of the Sea Level Rise project, a Miami-Dade County project that would counterattack the sea level rise, aka the most exciting project I’ve had to date.

Mary Kelly, my assistant and best friend, came by the office to tell me that she sent an email to bring me up to speed with the latest predictions on the sea level rise by the Southeast Florida Regional Climate Change Compact’s Sea Level Rise Ad Hoc Work Group. For a 55-year-old man like me, who knew climate change like the back of one’s hand before the advent of the Internet, I was more than willing to check other people’s predictions. What I found out shook me to my core.

For one, in the short term, by 2040, the sea level is projected to rise 10 to 17 inches; in the medium term, by 2070, the sea level is expected to rise 21 to 54 inches. Finally, in the long term, by 2120, the sea level is expected to rise 40 to 136 inches. Though all the statistics were alarming, I felt sick to my stomach hearing the short term one. Not too long ago, I had been reading that the maximum sea level rise in Miami was going be six feet, or in this case, 72 inches.

It took me a while to fathom the statistics and their implications. Given that the sea level rise is gradually rising, I felt knots forming in my stomach. However, my mind was more focused in trying to figure out how to prepare Miami for the sea level rise, which seemed to be gradually approaching.

As I did more research, my daughter, Debbie, called me to tell me that her appointment with our family friend and oncologist, Dr. Catalina Mendez, was due in two hours. Thank goodness I have a friendly relationship with my boss. He told me that I could have the appointment, and because of my prompt report on another project, I could have the rest of the week off. However, he also reminded me that I needed to work on my report on the Sea Level Rise. Before leaving for the hospital, I spoke with the guys of the Sea Level Rise Strategy project, and they said that work would begin in a week. Then, out of the office, I was now in what my dad would refer to as “father mode”.

In the parking lot, as I left, my mind was now focusing on Debbie. For most of her life, she sparkled: vivacious, tenacious, vibrant, and ambitious. Now, in recent months, like a balloon depleted from hot air, she was listless and thin, and I had to rush to the bathroom to help her with what seemed to be eternal nosebleeds. I also had to bring bowls to the bathroom, because I tend to gag or vomit when I see blood since I was five. It all happened when my dad once accidentally put a live mouse in a blender. I was so disgusted that to this day I can’t stand watching blood.

On my way home, I spotted Sofia the hobo, who was screaming “The end is near!” “The end is near!” while shaking a bell and with a poser hanging on her neck that read “the end is near” in all caps and in a blood red shade. Normally, one would be somewhat wary about such comments, but Sofia was known for erratic behavior. One week ago, she was screaming about discounts on “Macy’s”.

As I drove my home, I saw my neighbor, Mrs. Karen Smith, who was in front of my way. She turned around and knocked on my car’s window, trying to get my attention. Reluctantly, I rolled down my window. As usual, she presented herself as a mere older woman, who is charming and gives hard candy to children. After a brief, cordial catch up, I knew what would come next: as a tiger that leaps to catch its prey, she and I proceeded to debate about climate change. Like me, Mrs. Smith studied climatology. But it seemed that only one of us had put our education to good use. Though I have no problem with friendly debate, Mrs. Smith has a patronizing attitude and calls everyone who doesn’t follow her ideas “crazy”. Each time she called climate change a “fool’s tale”, I winced and gripped the wheel harder and harder. She then called me crazy, and I replied: “well, if a person is called crazy for following facts and science—rather than a cult of self-righteous, dogmatic lunatics, I’m fine with being called crazy”. Slightly taken aback, she shot back: “I’m hosting a real ED conference this afternoon; it’s about removing climate change from our young people’s curriculum. I’d love to hear your ‘contributions’ to this topic. You could appear on the Miami Herald!”. Saved by the bell, Debbie called me to say that our doctor was ready to see her in the hospital [how long did I speak to that nagging voice? The appointment was due in an hour!]. I dropped my work supplies at home and drove to the hospital.

Now, in the hospital, I saw Debbie. She gave me a weak smile and looked pale, but she still managed to stand up. My heart ached for her. Then, before I knew it, our friend Dr. Catalina Mendez, an oncologist, saw us in her office and asked Debbie for any symptoms. Besides the nosebleeds, the loss of appetite, and the lethargy, Debbie had been bruising easily recently. Dr. Mendez looked extremely concerned and drew some blood. With tears in her eyes, Cata told us that Debbie had leukemia and that she needed to be put on chemotherapy immediately. Despite being advanced, Debbie might survive—probably for some weeks—if treated right away. Debbie, in her twenties and with a mind of her own, decided to go under treatment. I respected her decision.

At Debbie’s request, I went home to bring her clothes and her university things. I wept all the way home and back to the hospital. My mind kept thinking of Debbie’s mom and the love of my life, Shelly, had passed away during childbirth. She never knew her daughter, but Debbie has her mom’s sweet smile and fierce spirit.

After a painful week off, I went from dad mode to climatologist mode. Despite my level-headedness attitude and rational mindset at work, I missed seeing Debbie after work. I regained my focus when I started working with the Sea Level Rise Strategy project. My responsibility was to read the report made by the “Miami Dade County Sea Level Rise Strategy” and make recommendations on how to prepare the Miami community.

Debbie continued to be under treatment for two weeks, which seemed like months. Despite the treatment, which was extremely painful, Debbie remained upbeat and liked to talk with her doctors and nurses. One day before her 24th birthday on May 13, she passed away. I will never forget that, as her physical body was dying, she gave me a notebook and said “I love you. Read it after my passing”. Well, at 4: 00 PM, my daughter passed away. I called our relatives and friends, who were devastated—especially Mark, Debbie’s best friend since childhood and the son of my best friend Mary Kelly. On May 16, we had a funeral, and to honor Debbie and her zest for life, we wore color—instead of black, because we all agreed that she would say that “death is just the beginning of a happy journey without the problems of Earth”. The eulogies were poignant, amusing, and captured the essence of my girl.

After the funeral, I went to the hospital to pick up Debbie’s things. As I continued to pick up, I stumbled upon the notebook that Debbie gave me. As I opened the first page, I had goosebumps by the title: “The Foreboding”. I drove home and started reading it. It had chilling, detailed descriptions of the sea level rise I had been studying at work, but Debbie kept emphasizing that she “desperately” wanted to tell me about the dreams. Yet she did not want to be a burden. She wrote: “I am not one to believe in the meaning of dreams, but given that we are talking about his work, I assume my dreams are telling me something”.

Since I am working on the Sea Level Rise Project, I consider it my duty to talk about these dreams and explain how to prepare.

The first dream that Debbie talked about in her journal was walking in our flooded home. She also said that walking was very challenging, because the weight of the water is very strong. To prevent house floods, it is important to protect the foundation cracks of the house with any material that expands and fills any gaps, such as hydraulic cement. Installing sump pumps, which pump groundwater away from the home through drainage pipes, is also useful. Also, installing flood alert systems is extremely helpful.

In her second night at the hospital, Debbie dreamt of seeing herself sick in bed. She described a pain in her stomach which she called “unbearable”. Then, it dawned on me that the sea was contaminated, increasing the likelihood of diseases. In this case, it seemed she was suffering from gastroenteritis or cholera. To avoid this, as a rule of thumb, always be cognizant of the source of the water, especially the one that one drinks.

One of the dreams that I found to be very upsetting was one with a storm surge, based on a real-life event. On her 21st birthday, Debbie and I went for summer vacations to Kauai, Hawaii, and lodged in the Kauai Beach Resort & Spa, thanks to contest which its prize was a vacation to any place in Hawaii. We were looking forward to go to swimming in the sea in the first day, but a raging storm caught us before we had any chance to swim. Debbie was bitterly disappointed. On her dream, she saw a storm surge that its waters were swallowing a street Miami and a hotel. It is difficult to prevent a storm surge at home, but installing a rainwater management system would save one’s home.

Last, but not least, Debbie saw a large tsunami that came fast and furiously to swallow Miami. She saw it form and wanted to speak about it. She said that the hardest part of the dream was being called out for misinformation. Since a tsunami is a rarity in Miami, I have no specific guidelines to combat it—at home. I was so disturbed by this dream that I felt a need to warn everyone about it and called it “The Noah’s Flood of the 21st Century”.

I stood up from reading her book, threw some clothes on, and ran down the stairs to the door. Before leaving, I looked out the window and couldn’t believe my eyes: it was Mrs. Karen Smith, dragged away by a flood and screaming to the top of her lungs, “I’m sorry for not believing in you!” before disappearing. I blinked twice and kept looking for clues. The upshot? A climatologist’s worst nightmare: seeing the Noah’s flood of the 21st Century, and not doing anything about it.



The Foreboding

My father and the man whom I was named after, Daniel Fisher Sr., was a politician. My mom, Elizabeth, was an avid environmentalist. Both were interested in making the world a better place, and they passed their values, their habits, and even their dreams to me. They made me feel that I could do anything.

When I was 21, working on my bachelor’s, my mom participated in the ceremony of the signing of the “Clean Air act of 1990.” When I went to my childhood home in Orlando, Florida, to visit her, she told me that from now on, everyone was going to be “eco-friendly”. In hindsight, she was right.

Just as my career was expanding, so was my personal life. After working on my bachelor’s, I did a master’s on Science in Energy Policy and Climate. In 1996, I married a young science teacher in Miami, Florida. Then in ‘98, my daughter, Debbie, was born.

Carl Sagan, an astrophysicist, once said, “You have to know the past to understand the present.” or as my mom has put it, “Learn from yesterday to avoid screwing it up later”. Those are wise words, but no degree, no preparation, no job could have prepared me for what I now refer to as “the Noah’s Flood of the 21st Century.”

This story begins in early April 2022 in Miami, Florida. The state government was starting to give a green light to the involvement of the scientific community when it came to tackling climate change. On a normal workday, my boss called me and told me that I would be working with the representatives of the Sea Level Rise project, a Miami-Dade County project that would counterattack the sea level rise, aka the most exciting project I’ve had to date.

Mary Kelly, my assistant and best friend, came by the office to tell me that she sent an email to bring me up to speed with the latest predictions on the sea level rise by the Southeast Florida Regional Climate Change Compact’s Sea Level Rise Ad Hoc Work Group. For a 55-year-old man like me, who knew climate change like the back of one’s hand before the advent of the Internet, I was more than willing to check other people’s predictions. What I found out shook me to my core.

For one, in the short term, by 2040, the sea level is projected to rise 10 to 17 inches; in the medium term, by 2070, the sea level is expected to rise 21 to 54 inches. Finally, in the long term, by 2120, the sea level is expected to rise 40 to 136 inches. Though all the statistics were alarming, I felt sick to my stomach hearing the short term one. Not too long ago, I had been reading that the maximum sea level rise in Miami was going be six feet, or in this case, 72 inches.

It took me a while to fathom the statistics and their implications. Given that the sea level rise is gradually rising, I felt knots forming in my stomach. However, my mind was more focused in trying to figure out how to prepare Miami for the sea level rise, which seemed to be gradually approaching.

As I did more research, my daughter, Debbie, called me to tell me that her appointment with our family friend and oncologist, Dr. Catalina Mendez, was due in two hours. Thank goodness I have a friendly relationship with my boss. He told me that I could have the appointment, and because of my prompt report on another project, I could have the rest of the week off. However, he also reminded me that I needed to work on my report on the Sea Level Rise. Before leaving for the hospital, I spoke with the guys of the Sea Level Rise Strategy project, and they said that work would begin in a week. Then, out of the office, I was now in what my dad would refer to as “father mode”.

In the parking lot, as I left, my mind was now focusing on Debbie. For most of her life, she sparkled: vivacious, tenacious, vibrant, and ambitious. Now, in recent months, like a balloon depleted from hot air, she was listless and thin, and I had to rush to the bathroom to help her with what seemed to be eternal nosebleeds. I also had to bring bowls to the bathroom, because I tend to gag or vomit when I see blood since I was five. It all happened when my dad once accidentally put a live mouse in a blender. I was so disgusted that to this day I can’t stand watching blood.

On my way home, I spotted Sofia the hobo, who was screaming “The end is near!” “The end is near!” while shaking a bell and with a poser hanging on her neck that read “the end is near” in all caps and in a blood red shade. Normally, one would be somewhat wary about such comments, but Sofia was known for erratic behavior. One week ago, she was screaming about discounts on “Macy’s”.

As I drove my home, I saw my neighbor, Mrs. Karen Smith, who was in front of my way. She turned around and knocked on my car’s window, trying to get my attention. Reluctantly, I rolled down my window. As usual, she presented herself as a mere older woman, who is charming and gives hard candy to children. After a brief, cordial catch up, I knew what would come next: as a tiger that leaps to catch its prey, she and I proceeded to debate about climate change. Like me, Mrs. Smith studied climatology. But it seemed that only one of us had put our education to good use. Though I have no problem with friendly debate, Mrs. Smith has a patronizing attitude and calls everyone who doesn’t follow her ideas “crazy”. Each time she called climate change a “fool’s tale”, I winced and gripped the wheel harder and harder. She then called me crazy, and I replied: “well, if a person is called crazy for following facts and science—rather than a cult of self-righteous, dogmatic lunatics, I’m fine with being called crazy”. Slightly taken aback, she shot back: “I’m hosting a real ED conference this afternoon; it’s about removing climate change from our young people’s curriculum. I’d love to hear your ‘contributions’ to this topic. You could appear on the Miami Herald!”. Saved by the bell, Debbie called me to say that our doctor was ready to see her in the hospital [how long did I speak to that nagging voice? The appointment was due in an hour!]. I dropped my work supplies at home and drove to the hospital.

Now, in the hospital, I saw Debbie. She gave me a weak smile and looked pale, but she still managed to stand up. My heart ached for her. Then, before I knew it, our friend Dr. Catalina Mendez, an oncologist, saw us in her office and asked Debbie for any symptoms. Besides the nosebleeds, the loss of appetite, and the lethargy, Debbie had been bruising easily recently. Dr. Mendez looked extremely concerned and drew some blood. With tears in her eyes, Cata told us that Debbie had leukemia and that she needed to be put on chemotherapy immediately. Despite being advanced, Debbie might survive—probably for some weeks—if treated right away. Debbie, in her twenties and with a mind of her own, decided to go under treatment. I respected her decision.

At Debbie’s request, I went home to bring her clothes and her university things. I wept all the way home and back to the hospital. My mind kept thinking of Debbie’s mom and the love of my life, Shelly, had passed away during childbirth. She never knew her daughter, but Debbie has her mom’s sweet smile and fierce spirit.

After a painful week off, I went from dad mode to climatologist mode. Despite my level-headedness attitude and rational mindset at work, I missed seeing Debbie after work. I regained my focus when I started working with the Sea Level Rise Strategy project. My responsibility was to read the report made by the “Miami Dade County Sea Level Rise Strategy” and make recommendations on how to prepare the Miami community.

Debbie continued to be under treatment for two weeks, which seemed like months. Despite the treatment, which was extremely painful, Debbie remained upbeat and liked to talk with her doctors and nurses. One day before her 24th birthday on May 13, she passed away. I will never forget that, as her physical body was dying, she gave me a notebook and said “I love you. Read it after my passing”. Well, at 4: 00 PM, my daughter passed away. I called our relatives and friends, who were devastated—especially Mark, Debbie’s best friend since childhood and the son of my best friend Mary Kelly. On May 16, we had a funeral, and to honor Debbie and her zest for life, we wore color—instead of black, because we all agreed that she would say that “death is just the beginning of a happy journey without the problems of Earth”. The eulogies were poignant, amusing, and captured the essence of my girl.

After the funeral, I went to the hospital to pick up Debbie’s things. As I continued to pick up, I stumbled upon the notebook that Debbie gave me. As I opened the first page, I had goosebumps by the title: “The Foreboding”. I drove home and started reading it. It had chilling, detailed descriptions of the sea level rise I had been studying at work, but Debbie kept emphasizing that she “desperately” wanted to tell me about the dreams. Yet she did not want to be a burden. She wrote: “I am not one to believe in the meaning of dreams, but given that we are talking about his work, I assume my dreams are telling me something”.

Since I am working on the Sea Level Rise Project, I consider it my duty to talk about these dreams and explain how to prepare.

The first dream that Debbie talked about in her journal was walking in our flooded home. She also said that walking was very challenging, because the weight of the water is very strong. To prevent house floods, it is important to protect the foundation cracks of the house with any material that expands and fills any gaps, such as hydraulic cement. Installing sump pumps, which pump groundwater away from the home through drainage pipes, is also useful. Also, installing flood alert systems is extremely helpful.

In her second night at the hospital, Debbie dreamt of seeing herself sick in bed. She described a pain in her stomach which she called “unbearable”. Then, it dawned on me that the sea was contaminated, increasing the likelihood of diseases. In this case, it seemed she was suffering from gastroenteritis or cholera. To avoid this, as a rule of thumb, always be cognizant of the source of the water, especially the one that one drinks.

One of the dreams that I found to be very upsetting was one with a storm surge, based on a real-life event. On her 21st birthday, Debbie and I went for summer vacations to Kauai, Hawaii, and lodged in the Kauai Beach Resort & Spa, thanks to contest which its prize was a vacation to any place in Hawaii. We were looking forward to go to swimming in the sea in the first day, but a raging storm caught us before we had any chance to swim. Debbie was bitterly disappointed. On her dream, she saw a storm surge that its waters were swallowing a street Miami and a hotel. It is difficult to prevent a storm surge at home, but installing a rainwater management system would save one’s home.

Last, but not least, Debbie saw a large tsunami that came fast and furiously to swallow Miami. She saw it form and wanted to speak about it. She said that the hardest part of the dream was being called out for misinformation. Since a tsunami is a rarity in Miami, I have no specific guidelines to combat it—at home. I was so disturbed by this dream that I felt a need to warn everyone about it and called it “The Noah’s Flood of the 21st Century”.

I stood up from reading her book, threw some clothes on, and ran down the stairs to the door. Before leaving, I looked out the window and couldn’t believe my eyes: it was Mrs. Karen Smith, dragged away by a flood and screaming to the top of her lungs, “I’m sorry for not believing in you!” before disappearing. I blinked twice and kept looking for clues. The upshot? A climatologist’s worst nightmare: seeing the Noah’s flood of the 21st Century, and not doing anything about it.