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| Mom checking out the damage |
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| Our next door neighbor's backyard |
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| One of the many trees that landed- this is our neighbor's roof |
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| New meaning to the word "treehouse" |
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| Welcome to the Jungle- me & Marius |
Yes, its that anniversary again. That day when the glass globe of our world was flipped viciously backwards, and the bedrock of our lives shaken to the core, all the fragments whirling around us like snowflakes in that globe of glass we felt was shatterproof. Katrina devastated us 9 years ago. Its the question that locals ask- "Where were you when the storm hit?"
Everyone goes through at least one life-changing event at least once in their life, and if they are lucky and blessed, once is the only time they have go through the painful process of having their world turned upside-down. It is the way we experience one of the biggest losses of all- the loss of faith. The feeling that we felt we knew our world and its boundaries and felt a sense of being invincible, protected, safe from the unknown- like the proverbial fact that kids don't understand the concept of their own mortality. Then a storm hits, and destroys our world and our security, and everything is obliterated, flattened to the ground, the fatal blow.
My own personal story from the storm- Covington, LA. Nightmares a few days before, a portent. Uneasy flashes of instinct. Strange weather patterns, and a purple sky the night before. Just us girls- me, Mom and Marius. The power blinked out at 4:45 a.m. The next 7 hours were the enactment of a horror story. Towering pines on both sides of the house falling silently like matchsticks. The howling wind and the pelting water. Huddled in the living room, too scared to retreat to the bathtub because it was as dark and claustrophobia-inducing as a crypt. Time was suspended as we waited and waited. And waited. Towards the end of the longest day ever, the house shook as though hit by a giant, and that God-awful "freight train" sound gathered and struck. It was one of the giants, a pine tree that was knocked down and landed on the house. Thank God it only took out the corner of the house and not the middle. My bedroom bore the brunt of the strike. We walked down a quiet hall and were surrounded by a fresh pine smell. One look into my room showed us the evidence- no ceiling left, branches and pine needles occupying the small space, the light blown out and in shards on the floor. But- thank God- that was all. Compared to so many, MANY others out there, one room out of the entire house was a small loss to suffer.
The next two and a half weeks were grueling. No electricity. No generator. Dead heat of a Deep South summer. The street completely blocked by fallen limbs, giants that stretched from one end of the road to the houses and beyond, tangled in electric wires. An unnatural quiet hovering, but thankfully a neighbor threw out an old bbq grill and we claimed it and were able to cook on it. The morning cups of tea and coffee Mom brewed on that old grill never tasted as good before or since. We had running water- another amen moment- and were able to take baths, so we didn't make a complete break from civilized life. The Guard arrived, and we went with gratitude to wait in the line and get our car loaded with MREs. Insane lines for gas, and prices yanked sky-high for yet another staple that we took for granted in the world "before". Dead heat of the nights, no a/c, feeling smothered by the total darkness beyond our doors, and the incredible heat sitting like a weight on our skin. The rhythmic panting of Marius was the only sound in that complete and scary silence. Mom had a handheld little paper fan that she waved over me and our dog, to help us sleep. She was the angel in that nightmare- her optimism in the face of all the ugliness was a force to be reckoned with.
This new world without cell phones, computers and t.v.s was overwhelming indeed. We were frantic to know how friends and family were doing, but the texting capability was slow going. It was a vast relief when the texts slowly trickled in and everyone checked in when they could. Other than those slow messages from the void, no communication with the outside world- but again, a blessing in the form of radio. We followed that radio's broadcasts the way the folks back in WWII days followed it- the one and only source of information. A voice in the lonely and frightening darkness, a beacon back home in a world that had lost all sanity. A kind neighbor stopped by with Popeyes chicken, and fear-inducing stories of looters and villains crossing the lake- by foot- determined to rob everyone blind and kill us all in our (fitful) sleep. We accepted the meal with boundless gratitude, and rejected the stories, praying he was wrong or misinformed. You see, our faith was gone, so in this new and strange world, anything was possible.
Life took its slow, painstakingly slow, turn back to normalcy. But it was a long and difficult battle. Everything had to be rebuilt, from the ground-up in some cases.
We survived the storm, and everything slowly and gradually returned to a normal that we could understand and feel some return of security with. Although "normal" will never be the same again- it has been redefined across the board. And this day- August 29- will forever be "the anniversary". Like the end of a relationship- the one we have with our faith. But God smiled on us, in so many ways, and saved us from the storm. He kept us in the palm of his hand, and when the towering trees were splintered and shredded like mere toothpicks, all around us, our God kept us from the eye of the storm. We lived through it. We were here to rebuild. God willing, our faith will never falter again, and God will continue to keep us safe and sound through the storms of this fragile glass globe of life. And while we say our prayers of gratitude and thanksgiving, we pray from the bottom of our hearts for those who did not survive; who lost family and friends, and beloved pets; who suffered such loss that they had to rebuild from the foundation of their lives on up; for those who fled the path of this vicious storm, and returned thinking they would have a home to come back to, but were struck with the "new reality". We all share this tragedy together, and your pain belongs to us because we are family. New Orleans- and Covington, and all the surrounding area- is home. During these horrific times, we bond together, reluctant siblings that understand we share this pain and this world, soldiers in the same war. That makes us family.
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