Bella The Rescued Retired Racing Greyhound (Click to enlarge)
We are hurt, but we’re bold and powerful as well. Yes, we still cry, but we laugh too. Just like the sweet and personable Bella, pictured here. Yesterday was the 4th anniversary of the landfall of the devastating Hurricane Katrina. For days we have been worrying and thinking about where we were, and have been cathartically sharing stories of our experiences of the event. For those of us who lived in this region before, during and after Katrina and the failure of the federal levees, we will forever be marked by the experience. When we meet new people, inevitably the subject will arise, how did you weather the storm?
I remember being in a hotel in Austin, TX, four years ago today. It took us nearly 19 hours of straight driving to navigate 500 miles. Eight of those hours to get from Mandeville to Baton Rouge – normally an hour’s drive. We tried to get housing closer than Austin; alas, there were no rooms at the inn. The only accommodations for 2 adults, a child and 10 animals (dogs, cats, 2 large parrots) was at a Residence Inn in Austin. And were we ever grateful for that! We made that trip with all our lives and some precious possessions in a crowded mini-van. There are much worse stories than ours, absolutely — many truly horrific. But the worry and stress we experienced silenced even the most abrasive and rebellious of teenagers, my daughter.
The only sound was the hum of a fairly well tuned (we hoped) engine and of the portable TV which we set up on the dash. When it began to rain just as we put Baton Rouge behind us, but still crawled at an almost walking pace, I felt my chest cramp with anxiety. Would we be trapped in our van when the storm hit? Parents do not have the luxury to worry aloud. We will be okay, is the only expression allowed. Even our beloved animals settled into their situation quietly and uncomplaining in their crates or on our laps, as if they absorbed the monumental importance of introspection.
Though we were safe in Austin, the television and laptop did not provide comfort. We awakened the next day to news of the collapse of floodwalls and levees. The mesmerizing horror of floating human bodies and stories from the Dome, then from the Convention Center, was almost more than I could bear, but not quite. I was glued. I must confess, the stories of the animals swimming toward boats filled with rescued humans in the failing hope of being rescued themselves put me past what I could bear sanely. I ceased to be of any use to anyone.
We had just moved to the house we evacuated. We did not know our neighbors. We had no blood family here and had lost contact with our old friends. The isolation we felt made us feel we had escaped a warring region and were finding refuge in a bunker far from those we knew and loved. I wondered if I would ever be close to sanity again.
But this is what I report. A month after the storm we were finally reunited with our battered but quite habitable home…and we healed. The trees which blocked our egress were finally removed. We survived. We are strong and we are no longer alone. The storm had been a harsh teacher. Some may have succumbed to the lesson and for them I weep and pray, but for many of us, we picked up our lives, not where we left off, no, but with this profound experience behind us we went forth with the knowledge that our time here is temporary. Our lives are temporary. Those of our region know that better than most. Now we are more prepared. Now we are ready to go again…quicker and more efficiently. We have gathered our loved ones close; we have healed important relationships, and tell those we love how much they mean to us every day.
So to those from other states who said our region should not be rebuilt I say, look at us now. You were wrong. There is no place like home for you and there is no place like home for us. We are better citizens from our experience.
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