ORIGINALLY POSTED AUGUST 30, 2005
Most days while I’m home the phone rings back to back and I’m on the computer talking to my friends and family members most of the day. We laugh about nothing and talk about everyday things sending each other articles or links to websites we’ve found interesting and/or amusing. Starting on Sunday, August 28, 2005, my phones were eerily silent, my email inbox empty.
As you know, being the Creole Princess I think I am, means I’m from Louisiana. More specifically…that dirty, dirty part of Louisiana we refer to the southern most parts of our beloved state. Robby’s family is from Mississippi, very near the Gulf Coast.
Most of my family and friends whom needed to evacuate started pulling out of Louisiana on Friday, the rest finished boarding up their homes, taking what they could on Saturday. We spoke with everyone and got the numbers to the hotels they were staying in or the coordinates of where they were going to be. We all knew it was going to be bad. But no one wanted to talk about anything specific. We waited. All of us, holding hands across the miles, stretching to pat each other on the back, bowing our heads in prayer, taking comfort in the fact that we were all safe while we waited. Me here in the D.C. Metro area, stranded, it seemed, from my beloved state. We waited.
Sunday night, we had a dinner party and our guests, we’re certain, never knew the extent of the helplessness in the face of danger to our homeland. We Southerners were all holding our breath and were barely able to get any sleep knowing that Katrina would hit land early Monday morning. My best friend, Cojoe, was on a plane to Paris. His family, natives of New Orleans, had made it to his home in Houston. My other best friend, Weezy, told us his family was safe in Houston as well and my one of my best girlfriends from home and her family had headed to Texas. I spoke with my sister, brother, grandmother and other members of my family in Baton Rouge and was assured they were ready to bunker down knowing they’d be without electricity. We waited.
We spoke with Robby’s parents several times on Sunday, not voicing our adamant displeasure regarding their choice to stay with their home on their land out of respect. But we got off the phone feeling more than helpless. What if? What are we going to do if, if…..not able to voice even the possibilities that were included in IF. We waited.
Monday morning, Category 5…OH MY GOD!
Anyone from the South would immediately react that way when you hear Category 5. We’ve all lived through Categories 1 – 3 and remembered the devastation that remained once it left. A Category 5 was not within our immediate grasp as we had nothing to compare it to. My heart started hurting. I called those I could early…already getting “no signal” messages. I left my home for a doctor’s appointment and it all went straight to hell as I was fiddling around here away from my true home, where my heart truly resides.
Around 11:00 am on Monday we heard from Robby’s parents. They were battling the wind and the rain which had ripped off considerable parts of the roof of their main house and completely ripped off the roof of the barn. Several trees were uprooted on their land. They’d placed a tarp over their bed to see if they could keep it dry as the rain came through the roof and were trying to figure out how to save the piano. They had hours of wind and rain left to battle. That’s the last we’ve heard from them.
The shock that engulfs me as I watch the news of areas I have driven through and walked down is incomparable. The hurt I feel as I speak with people whom have lost everything is, well, I can’t describe it. Good people, who work hard everyday to provide a good life for their family are back at square one.
The reports were frustrating on Monday because a lot of the areas surrounding New Orleans weren’t being reported on. My girlfriend from Slidell called me from where they’ve evacuated to ask that I search for information on their homes. I couldn’t find a thing. The lump in my throat is salty.
The looters of the grocery stores…I have sympathy for. They need food, have lost everything, the food is going to go bad anyway and if it can sustain their strength to move on to the next place to lay their heads…fine. BUT…the people looting the malls for material things…I can’t even express in words my feelings toward them.
As news of the devastation mounted…we all sat with broken hearts. Our most majestic city….destroyed. Some of the elders have said the city needed a good “cleansing.” If that’s what this was…then so be it. I am ripped in two as I look outside and the sun is shining. My house is dry and we are safe. But my HOME, Robby's HOME is under attack. We can't find peace.
It’s Tuesday and I spoke with my sister finally about 30 minutes ago at 5:30 am. She and my nephew are fine, no damage other than the inconvenience of having no electricity. As more news is available to us we are still without the knowledge that will help us sleep tonight….the knowledge that Robby’s parents are safe. We’ve decided that if we haven’t heard anything by tomorrow, we are probably going to fly to Atlanta, rent an SUV and take our chances on getting to the house in Mississippi.
Please pray for our people
We’re still waiting
Please pray for our people
Our hearts are breaking
Please pray for our people
Please, please, please
Monnie












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