Sheesh! So I spent most of last night parked on the couch with Casey sniffling and crying for these poor people down south. And to think we considered moving to LA! I’m sad too that I never did get to see New Orleans before this horrible thing happened…just goes to show that all the wisdom about seizing the day is really wisdom.
Some stories I heard last night that especially touched me:
~ A lady walking out of town carrying a five month old baby and not much else. One of the reporters asked her where she was headed and she just said something to effect of having “nothing left for me back there”…that she just needed to go.
~ A family that evacuated to Florida and came back to see how their house has fared…it was gone, just flattened. When ABC talked to them they had a flat tire and no gas and had been parked in a CVS parking lot since the afternoon before. They had four kids and one on the way and they hadn’t eaten since the day before. Before the story ended they were able to buy some cookies and lemonade from CVS, the CVS manager donated two cans of fix-a-flat, and some other random guy came and gave them two gallons of gas….the mom said “now we can go home…or at least somewhere else, I don’t know where”.
~ A woman holding a picture of her family and saying she had taken the kids and some stuff to her parents’ house per the evacuation order. By the time she got there it was too late to go back to the mobile home where she had left her husband securing stuff and packing. The last time she talked to him he was in the bathtub and she could hear the wind screaming around the trailer. Then the phones went down and she hasn’t heard from him since.
Ugh, its just so horrible! I wish I could help, wish I could just go and hug people, but I dont’ if I could bear it and thats selfish because if I can’t how can they? Where do they find their hope? How do they think of the what their living room used to look like and know they’ll never cuddle on that couch again, never see those pictures on the walls, the way the wicker basket held more than magazines, held all the clutter of the room…how can they think of that and not just sit down and cry to know they’ll never see it again?
You know, our house isn’t the greatest house ever, and we’ll probably look back someday from the smug comfort of age and laugh and shake our heads about it, but its still sad for me to leave. Those floors I’ve complained about ten times a day are the floors where our daughter took her first wobbling steps, those walls with rotted insulation inside have absorbed our tears and our joys over the last six months, love went into the yard and the garden, my sunflowers and morning glories just bloomed, Sambuca is there in the yard, those ill fitting windows are the last ones she sat in the sun by. Going to a new and better and safer house is a blessing, and I am aware enough to know we didn’t get the new house purely on our own merits, but through divine assistance. But the old house soon will hold only our memories, only our echoes. I can still drive by if I want…these peole who have lost everything don’t have the boxes of treasured pictures and baby clothes that I will take with me. They can’t drive by and see the house that enclosed their families, the walls that absorbed their love for each other. I will taked boxes of clothes and books and candle sconces and curtains and bath mats and toys and my (four!) sets of dishes, all lovingly chosen for my own corner of the world. They will take nothing but what they have carried out on their backs and their souls; and I ache for them.