Hurricanes Among Us

On Sunday, August 28, 2005 I was sitting on my brother's back porch with my family. Awaiting the storm. Literally. Every tv in the house was tuned to CNN or the Weather Channel, watching the wretch that would soon drastically change millions of peoples' lives. This forementioned wretch would be known in history as Katrina. That devastating bitch of a storm. I've only witnessed my father cry three times in my life (that I can remember at least). The third was this night. In 1999 my father was transferred to New Orleans. He uprooted his wife (whom had never lived anywhere but her hometown in her 40+ years of life)--sold his family home and moved to New Orleans. He started a new life there. Invested his heart and soul into the gorgeous house in Uptown--just a few blocks from the St. Charles/Napoleon intersection. Katrina promised to uproot his new found life and possibly damage every material thing he had ever worked for. Everything. And he cried, like a baby. He had worked 35+ years to helplessly watch (from hundreds of miles away) a storm come through and possibly take it all away. August 29th, the storm came through. Exhale. The storm passed, with what was thought "minimal damage"--until the levees broke. The next week or so is now a haze to me--and according to witnesses I was, in fact, a walking zombie. I stalked the forums, seeking my parents friends and neighbors now dispersed throughout the country, stalking satellite images, trying to get a glimpse of our neighborhood. Exhale again. We were in dry land! We "made out good"--as the phrase goes. There was still plenty of wind damage to the property--and fear of the devils that lurked in the city--but the house didn't flood. September was a blur. The song by Green Day "Wake Me Up When September Ends" tugged at many hearts. My mother couldn't listen to it without crying. Because of my father's job--he was immediately sent to Baton Rouge and worked 20+ hours day to help salvage the city he had fallen in love with. My mother frantically remained at my brother's house in Arkansas--and with mine and my sister's help, threw herself into finding shelter and needed items for evacuees that found themselves in Arkansas with nothing but the clothes on their back. Fast forward. Three years later, I sit here, on August 27th (two days before the anniversary of Katrina) and listen to and read the promise of a potentially devastating storm. Gustav. Ahh--he must be the devil, or Katrina's spawn. I hope and pray that he breaks up before he hits the Gulf--but he's not looking pretty out there. Already killed 5 people in Haiti. My father ended our telephone conversation quite abruptly last night when he received an updated report from his employer on the storm: "Shit--it's streamlined. Gotta go--love ya. And...here we go again." So--I'm headed to Mass--to pray to all the Saints and Angels and to my Father and Savior--that Gustav is a joke. It's not really going to happen again. I'm also headed home to prep the house for some possible "unexpected" guests. As is my sister- and my brother- and other friends and family in Arkansas and Texas. Gustav MUST be a joke. Please God. Not again.