Gratitude
Last year was different from all of the others. I still have a fresh copy of the last newspaper published before Hurricane Katrina. I remember first reading itthe front page headline, Katrina heads the for the Gulf Coast. I had absolutely no idea of what exactly was to befall us.
My wife, Holly, and I were married in May of 2005. We now live in a run-down trailer park in the south side of an over-industrialized Laurel, Mississippi. But not everything about the park is bad. Sean, our son, is there with us. We also have a fourth family member, Bubbles, a black and white cat. I hated her just like I hated all cats at first, but Holly loves her in much the same way she loves Sean. And then there are the little things we possess, have earned, which are displayed throughout our home: a nice color television, a stereo with broken CD player, my computers, our curtains, and our dishes. Then there are the hundreds of pictures on the walls and on our refrigerator. Thousands more memories are tucked away in our photo albums. It took us quite a while to accumulate just those simple possessions; nothing we have is comparably valued as most other peoples, but we have never concerned ourselves with that. We are proud. We have come a long way, and still we continue.
The paper said Katrina would likely be the worst in some years, so Holly and I packed up several necessities for a three-day stay at my parents home in Seminary. Just the usual stuffbaby bottles, diapers, water, formula mix, food, clothes, a couple of flashlights with year-old batteries, and an extra set of AA batteries for the weather radio. Our van was later trusted with this light load. About fifteen minutes after locking Bubbles safely inside the trailer with fresh kitty litter and plenty of food in her dispenser, we drove off. She could not come with us lest my parents dogs would rip her to shreds.
Upon arrival at my parents, we relieved the van of our supplies and stowed them inside the guest bedroom. While Holly sat and relaxed to general chit-chat with my mother, Sean and I headed into the woods for a nice walk. The day was bright and beautiful with no forewarning to the evil tempest en route via the Gulf of Mexico. Sean, while aboard my shoulders, laughed and cooed to the birds and animals greeting us along our journey. We ventured out farther than planned, leaving him anxious for a nice little nap shortly after our return.
Nightfall crept upon us faster than we could register. My brother and his wife were comatose in the upstairs bedroom. Mother was in the master bedroom placing emergency candles throughout the interior, just in case. Holly was in the guest bedroom, striving to keep her tired eyes on the tuckered-out boy outstretched alongside her. The only noises to be heard were of me and my father from the living room. We entertained each other with conversation for hours and did not surrender unto slumber until at least midnight.
I awoke the next day just as Katrina was knocking on the door to Covington County. Her wrath did not strike my eyes harshly at first. After a few hours, however, even the elder of the great pines and oaks all bowed before her glory. Rolls of rain mixed with wind coasted over a hilltop of a pasture far behind my parents house. As the rolls cleared the peak, they gained in momentum and careened downhill, crashing into the side of the little house as it stood bravely against the torment. All of hell broke loose, and it was only by Gods mercy that the very ground was not tossed into the chaos.
It was three days before Holly and I could drive out of the Mt. Horeb community, and at least another three hours before Laurel came back into our view. Along the way, in Katrinas wake, we passed mobile homes crushed by treesmany others were blown over to one side or another. Creeks were so flooded that they seemed as lakes. Pine forests barely remained standing with perfect paths of destruction sheered completely throughout. Every road was obstructed by at least several trees, and every other road was completely un-navigable. Cars were smashed by roofs blown from neighbors homes. Trucks had slid downhill over the sopping wet grass and remained stopped, bottomed-out in the ditches below. People were walking, some with children, others with nothing. Confusion was the order of the day, and fortune (what little there seemed to be) was only a dream of the pasthow much worse could it have been?
What a week indeed. Maybe there would be some salvageable items from our trailer. Maybe a few of our photographs survived the flood waters, and hopefully that would keep Holly happy enough to help me smilea smile similar to that of a man taunting his enemy after being dealt a powerful blow.
The parking lot to the trailer park was not much different than the carnage we had already driven through. The three trailers in the rear had all been damaged by a single tree. The tree was so big and its roots so close to the end of the first trailer that it twisted the homes frame upon uprooting, the trunk with its top crashed down through the two neighboring mobile homes. We could not drive directly to our little lot so we parked at my landlords house.
With Sean in my arms and Holly at my side, we walked towards our trailer. I was the first to see the back lawn; we had our car, a Pontiac Grand-Am, parked there. It was covered by another of the parks massive oaks. Glass slivers of broken windows were strewn all about and even blown to the other side of the driveway. But, separating the back lawn from the front, there stood our trailerunscathed!
I fumbled with my keys to unlock the door. The very instant the door opened, Bubbles darted out of the trailer. With confusion, she circled our legs and meowed as though she had never been happier to see someones face. I walked in and took quick inventory of everything we left behind. All was all in place, except for one large photo that probably hit the floor as a result of the violent vibrating of Katrinas winds against the wall. Holly picked up the portrait, dusted it, and replaced it on its wall. It was our first family photo. Tears came to my eyes as Holly grasped my hand. We held each other for a few moments, thankful to still have our lives.
