We are approaching the 4th Anniversary of the most tragic experience
this State has ever encountered—Katrina socking southeast Louisiana and New
Orleans.
There is probably not a single person in this state, and almost
certainly none in the New Orleans region that has not been greatly impacted by
the storm, the breaking of the levees, the fumbling by the federal government
and the finger-pointing by leading public officials at all levels.
I imagine any person who lived in the Southeast region of Louisiana has
his or her own Katrina story.
Most likely it involves evacuation, being uncertain about loved ones
and property, coming home to horror, rebuilding of homes, fighting with
insurance companies, attempting to find a place to live, waiting for FEMA
trailers, consolidating families, re-starting careers, losing hope, losing loved
ones, and yes, just crying.
Crying.
As I have mentioned before, for almost two years, at times, I simply
started to cry without knowing why.
Yet, I was one of the lucky ones. I did not live in a FEMA trailer, nor
was I dispersed.
True, some of my people close to me left and did not want
to come back home. Their seeing the blue-tarped roofs, the wind-ravaged homes,
the debris all around was just too much for them to bear. Ironically, while some
of us could not wait to never return, others could not return and are tired of
waiting.
So, on this 4th Anniversary, as we are talking about health care
battles, calling each other horrible names, looking at the most sinister within
our political opposition, I know the bells will ring strong on Saturday and we
will look into our individual and collective souls. We will be thankful we are
survivors.
Some of us are not. Some of my friends and people I know killed
themselves due to grief. Some are still not able to get out of the shock that
their lives came to a swirl as the hurricane collided with their existences.
They are still immersed in bewilderment.
Story continues here.
No comments:
Post a Comment