DownshoreDrift

This is the final installment in my series on my experiences last year when Hurricane Katrina hit the Gulf Coast. I said there were 10 installments, but I'm combining #9 and #10 into this post. So, this is it!

This day would be my last in Mississippi. It was Tuesday morning and I had some work left to do securing the house before my Dad and I went back home. It was time to get him out of there. He was tired and would not have been able to make it through the ice and the gas lines that were necessary to survive on the post-Katrina Gulf Coast. This area would be a very hard place to live for the forseeable future and I was really glad that he had a place to go. My mother and her husband would be staying in Picayune, waiting for the lights to come back on.  But, before I left, there was a good bit more to do, lest all our work of the day before be wasted.

I arose early on Monday morning, September 5, 2005, to meet my friends Amos and Russell as we attempted to tackle the roof, or keep the roof from tackling us. We all showed up at my Dad's house with chain saws, gloves, rakes, and some food. Fortunately, my Dad had several sheets of plywood in the garage and roofing material, such as felt, shingle, tar, roofing nails, etc. This was really amazing. This stuff had just collected over the years for no apparent reason, but now it would be used to save the house. It's almost as if God had allowed my Dad to keep all this stuff at his house for such a time as this. Yet another example of God's Providence.

This is the 7th in a series of 10 installments chronicling my experiences on the Gulf Coast last year in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, one of the deadliest and most costly natural disasters in U.S. history.

I awoke mid-morning on Sunday, September 4, with a renewed sense of energy and purpose. Even though I had the mini-breakdown yesterday, God seemed to use it to release a great deal of pressure and emotional weight. After a good night sleep on the air matress on the floor, I felt ready to face the day. It would be a hard day, as I would be saying goodbye to my Mamaw, quite possibly to never see her again. My Uncle Fred, and my cousin Jarrod, and Jeff, the husband of my cousin Kristin were coming down to get Mamaw and take her back to Little Rock. The morning and early afternoon were spent getting her ready and making peace with goodbye. She had been such a large part of my life for so many years, I was feeling the sorrow of not seeing her when I went home for visits. My Dad came to my Mom's house where we all were to spend a little time with his mother before he said goodbye to her as well. In her health, we knew that her trip to Little Rock would be a one-way journey, and with my Dad being disabled and not able to travel well, it would likely be the last time he would see his mother alive. It was heartbreaking.

I got around 4-5 hours of sleep that night on the floor of a pre-school room at the Christus Victor Lutheran Church. I slept deeply and morning came too early. We all began to stir around 6am and it was time to get moving, yet again. I decided to forego a shower, because I honestly didn't see the point. I was sweaty and filthy, but so was everyone else, and I figured I'd be sweaty again pretty soon. There was a thick heat during the day and it was suffocating with the humidity. So, I grabbed a pop-tart and my bottled water and began the day. We all had jobs to do and we were headed in many different directions.  Residents of the shelter, almost 100 strong began to wake as well, and we were all facing a very busy day. After some preliminary organization, I went with a guy from our church to City Hall to try and secure MRE's for the shelter. He set it up, and we headed back. Throughout yesterday evening and this morning, there had been all kinds of discussion about whether or not I should travel the 60 or so miles to Picayune alone. I felt alright with it, but everyone else felt like someone else should go with me. Chuck and Rob decided to come with me, and, as the day wore on, I would be so glad they did.

When the alarm went off around 4:30am, I had only slept between 2-3 hours. I was so keyed up after talking with my parents and getting everything together, I couldn't get to sleep. I'm notorious about this. Every mission trip I've ever taken, I've always started out tired because I can't sleep the night before, my mind racing through possibilities, prepartions, and potential problems (that sounds like sermon aliteration - ugh!). Anyway, I awoke, showered, dressed, packed some final things, secured pre-packed items in the borrowed Dodge Ram truck from my friend, and made it to the church to meet the other guys for 6am. It was a humid morning as the sun was rising, and we were all filled with anticipation. FEMA had not yet arrived en masse on the Gulf Coast. The military had not yet secured New Orleans. Refugees were still waiting at the Superdome and Convention Center for rescue. People in little coastal towns all along the Mississippi Gulf Coast had still not received water or  food, or been provided with a place to sleep. As dawn broke, and we headed out, we would be among the first responders, only 4 days after one of the biggest natural disasters in U.S. history. Others had arrived before us, to be sure, but we would be in that first wave of a citizen army of compassion. The next few days would be some of the most significant of my life.

I awoke on Thursday, September 1, 2005, and took my daughter to school. On the way back, my wife asked me to stop by the neighborhood market to pick up a few things. They're used to seeing me in the morning after I drop off my daughter, picking up a few things like eggs, milk, bread, etc. This morning, while shopping, I called a good friend of mine, Mark, who is a member of First Baptist Church in town and is also the chairman of the board for the largest Christian radio station in Central Alabama, Faith Radio. He answered and I asked him if FBC was doing anything to help out the hurricane victims. At the time, he didn't know of anything, but he asked what the radio station could do. We thought through that for a minute and decided that they could broadcast all day about our trip telling people to bring supplies to our church before this evening. Now, the whole area would know that we were going and how they could help. Praise God!

As Wednesday, August 31, 2005 dawned, one thing was becoming clear. The Gulf Coast was disintegrating. New Orleans was in total despair. The levees had broken and thousands upon thousands were stuck on rooftops or were looking for refuge in places like the Superdome or Convention Center. The Mississippi Gulf Coast had been flattened. The news media was airing stories of death, loss, and brokenness. I'll never forget the interview with the man in Mississippi who told the story of how his wife had been ripped from his hands as she was washed away by the tidal wave. He was wandering around in tears, beyond hope, clueless as to what to do next. Watching those images that morning served as a powerful motivation to get to my family, my home, and people in need. Each moment in Montgomery was another moment that my parents possibly didn't have water or means to take care of themselves. Each moment here was another moment that someone else went without. We had to hurry.

This is the second in a series of articles on the events surrounding Hurricane Katrina, one of the worst natural disasters in the history of the United States.  These events are seen through my eyes as I watched in horror as my homeland was destroyed and I made every effort to get to my family in Picayune, MS. 

I awoke Tuesday morning, August 30, after just a few hours of sleep. I didn't sleep well. I went to the television and switched between CNN, MSNBC, and FOX News. CNN seemed to have the best coverage as their reporters seemed to be so engaged with the story. I watched for a while as they began to report on the breaching of the levees in New Orleans. Ariel views began to come in of neighborhoods filling with water.  A yacht club burned out of control and filled the sky with smoke. The images on my screen could not be real. It was like something out of a movie, but it was happening to my beloved City. The Mississippi Gulf Coast was obliterated and I could only imagine what happened to Picayune. I couldn't turn away, but I had to get moving.

This is the first installment in a series of  articles that I am writing commemorating the one year anniversary of Hurricane Katrina hitting the Gulf Coast in August-September 2005. The story is told from my perspective and is meant to create a record for my family of all that took place. It is a good deal longer than my usual writing, but if you have the time, I would love for you to journey with me. If you do, you will understand why I care so much about that area. It is home.

  In late June, 2005, I travelled back home to visit my Dad who was having a minor surgery. I wanted to be with him in case anything happened. He came through it alright and we had a good visit. The next day, I travelled down to New Orleans to see a friend of mine. He lived down on the River up from Audubon Park just across the Jefferson Parish line. I loved the drive across Lake Ponchatrain on a warm summer evening. I remembered driving across the lake as a kid and thinking that it was so huge. Before I got to the lake, I drove through Slidell where my grandparents and uncles used to live. I drove past the nursing home where my Mamaw now lived, my only living grandparent. I wouldn't have time to see her this trip. Oh well, there'd be other chances.

As I drove deeper into the city, I experienced the feel of New Orleans as the warm afternoon turns into evening. It is humid and thick and wraps around you like a blanket. You lose yourself in the warm gulf breeze and it's as though the day is literally melting into the evening.  There's a feel and smell that never leaves you. It is a mix of the tropics, swamp, decay, salt air, and windy warmth.  There's no place like it in all the world.