The impending anniversary of Katrina is two days away. Nine years since she ripped up my birthplace. And still. I find myself rereading the emails that were frantically sent before/during/after the storm. They bring back the PTSD sensations that I felt.
We were all crazy with worry. The storm struck on a Sunday night/Monday morning. The worst of it was the water that decimated the homes and broke our hearts. An email from my brother and sister on Tuesday let us all know our family home was in ruin. Our beloved uncle's home no longer existed. We would later learn that both sisters from the coast could no longer live in their houses. I was crazy with worry of how to evacuate our parents, as were all my siblings. I finally had spotty communication on Wednesday from Mimi. Roads were closed. Gas was short. Time was of the essence. Mimi took the bull by the horns and just did it. She got Mom and Dad in the car and drove them to Jackson where friends of my brother welcomed them with open arms, meals, hot baths, and electricity. Thursday we relayed them here to our house. My heart still hurts thinking of the days they would sit and plan what to do next.
I believe this is looking into the bedroom I slept in and shared with sisters when I was in elementary school. I think I see the patio through the windows in the back.
This photo looks from the direction of the kitchen through Mom and Dad's lovely dining room into their living room, and south out their front windows.
You see the speckled walls? That was caused by waves ramming the debris into them for hours on end.
Front of the house.
Den. This part of the house was an addition and actually floated during the storm.
Every year I feel compelled to read the emails and expel the demon that was this storm.
She continues to rend my heart.
Mom and Dad moved back to their hometown. Not in the same neighborhood. Dad never stopped wanting to be back in the old house. Mom still dreams about it.
***
Camelot.
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