I was born and raised in New Orleans, but when I was twenty three, I moved to California. Even though I had been living there for nine years, my heart, my family and my history was still in New Orleans. On Friday August 26, 2005, I went to bed mildly concerned.

I had talked to my dad earlier in the day and he mentioned a disturbance in the Gulf. (My dad is funny that way. He doesn't talk much, but I can always count on him to bring up two topics in conversation: the weather and automobile maintenance.) He said he wasn't worried. It was a little storm and it probably wouldn't even come near Louisiana. We exchanged a few more pleasantries, he reminded me to get my oil changed, and then we hung up. The next day, I checked the internet for a weather update. My mild concern was ratcheted up a notch when I saw that the "little storm" had grown over night and was now a category 3. Not only that, but all of the spaghetti models were centering over Louisiana. I called the house and my sister answered. She told me that they weren't under mandatory evacuation. When I asked her what their plans were, she said that dad had gone to Sam's to buy batteries and water. They were going to ride it out. I was still worried, but if my dad wasn't concerned enough to leave, so be it. I think it is worth mentioning that I was born in 1973, and in my lifetime we never had to evacuate for anything. We had no reason to believe that this would be any different. That night I checked the advisories one last time, and seeing no change, I went to bed. The next thing I knew, it was 6:30 Sunday morning and my roommate, also a relocated New Orleanian, was shaking me awake.
"It's a five, it's a five!" He just kept repeating that over and over. I am not a morning person, so it took me a few minutes to figure out what he was talking about. "You have to call your family and make sure they know," he said. I stumbled out of bed and dug through my purse for my cell phone. I tried calling the house but there was no answer. I tried calling my sister's cell phone, but I couldn't get through. The cell towers were already being overwhelmed by other frantic callers. I tried to call my aunts, uncles and cousins, but I could not reach anyone. Eventually, I managed to get my sister on the phone and she told me they were all on the road, headed to northeast Texas in a caravan. Thankfully, my father has worked for Avondale since the 70's, and his work schedule requires him to be there by 6 am. Even on the weekends, he still gets up at 4:30 because his body has become accustomed to being awake at that time. As per his routine, he got up, went into the kitchen, and turned on the coffee pot and the little radio that he keeps on the kitchen table. He became immediately aware that they had to get out. He went back to the bedrooms and woke up my mom and my sister. He had my sister start calling all of the family to mobilize them. He started calling all of the people he knew while my mom packed whatever she could grab. Thirty minutes later, they loaded up the cars with three suitcases full of random clothes, the four dogs and the cat, and my dad's fireproof box of important papers. They met up with some of the family and started off on what would become a 16 hour trek to Texas. I spent that Sunday incessantly checking weather updates and watching the news coverage. I don't think I slept much that night. I knew it was going to be bad, but nothing could have prepared me for what was to come.
I had to work that Monday, but I can't say with any certainty that I actually got any work done. I had recently been promoted and I was not in a position to take time off, so I went to my office and read internet coverage. Bits and pieces of information, but nothing substantial. I tried to watch live streaming video, but the internet watchdog program wouldn't allow it. I went home that evening and turned on the news. At first it seemed like most of the city was relatively okay. Areas outside of the city and the lower nine were pretty bad. St. Bernard was gone and the Mississippi gulf coast was obliterated, but the city, my city, was not too bad comparatively. Then I turned on CNN and they were doing a phone interview with a doctor at one of the hospitals in the city. The doctor said she had just been informed that the water was rising and there had been a break in the levee at the 17th St. Canal. Oh, holy God, I thought to myself. I may have even said it out loud. I turned to my roommate and we just looked at each other in stunned disbelief. We both knew what that meant. He put his head in his hands and I started crying. I called my sister and she told me that they had been watching news all day. They had no idea what they were going to do. They were stranded in Texas with a couple of changes of clothing and the shoes that they had on their feet.
When they started showing aerial footage on August 30th, the full scope of the damage was immediately apparent. I had my doubts about our ability to recover, doubts which were increased with every photo, video, news report, and press conference that I saw. It just kept getting worse. People on their rooftops with crudely made bed sheet SOS signs. The madness at the Superdome and the Conventions Center. The looting. Ironic fires surrounded by flood waters. All of the animals left behind. The ubiquitous X's that are still on so many buildings. I searched internet sites and message boards for days trying to find news of my parent's street, trying to find out if anyone knew how bad the damage was. Finally, I got a reply to a post that I had written on nola.com. One of the neighbors had somehow snuck back into town with a boat. The street was flooded, but only a couple of feet. There was some minor roof damage, but the greatest casualty was my dad's pride and joy: the silver maple tree that he had planted as a sapling when they bought the house in 1978. It had grown to over fifty feet tall. It was a landmark. It was how we identified our home. "Just look for the house with the biggest tree on the street." You couldn't miss it. My dad loved that tree. The combination of wind and flooding cause the tree to fall, clipping the corner of their house and destroying the roof of the neighbor's house. The funny thing was, it didn't break. The whole tree, roots and all, came up out of the ground. Their front lawn was still attached to the tree in one piece, pulled up like a carpet.
My family stayed in Texas until parish officials let people come back. My dad wanted to return home as soon as they could. They got back to town and immediately got to work. They ripped out carpet and began to haul all of the furniture and other household goods to the driveway and the back patio. They had to wait for the insurance adjuster to give them approval to throw things away. It took months to get that approval. In the mean time, they ripped out sheetrock and treated the wooden frame. There was still no electricity or telephones. My mother and my sister decided that they were not going to stay. There was nothing that could be done to the house. There was no furniture other than some air mattresses and a folding table and chair set. The conditions were unbearable. They took the cat and the three smaller dogs with them and went to stay with family in Chackbay. My dad stayed behind with their Rottweiler, Samson. A couple of days later, my dad called them to say that Samson had died. Apparently, he drank some contaminated water and it killed him. There was nothing they could do. Another victim of Katrina that would never be counted. My mom and my sister went back home and helped my dad load Sam's 130 pound body into the back of the truck. There were no open vets in the area. The animal shelter was not open. They asked officials what to do and they were advised to dump his body in a field with other hurricane debris. A beloved family member reduced to trash. That was the last straw for my dad, so after they disposed of Sam, he went back to Chackbay, too.
They didn't return to the house for weeks. Finally, the power came back and they got a FEMA trailer, so they went back to pick up the pieces and begin rebuilding. They were some of the lucky ones. It only took six months for the insurance company to undervalue their lifetime of possessions and cut them a check. At least they got that. It took another six months to rebuild the house. It would have been easier and faster if they could have torn down what was left of the house and rebuild from the ground up, but due to the low level of flooding, they were only allowed to rip out and replace the bottom four feet of the walls and the floors. It took even longer to get new furniture. You couldn't walk into a store and buy anything to take with you. Everything had to be ordered. Due to the number of people ordering furniture, it took months to get everything, so my parents got one of those POD storage units delivered to their driveway. They started stockpiling furniture, sheets, towels, dishes, and other items in the POD. Eventually, the work was done inside of the house and they were able to move back in. It only took a year. They were some of the lucky ones.
Over the course of that year, I had several emotional breakdowns caused by Katrina. So many people that I knew and loved were going through so much, dealing with unimaginable loss and devastation. People that I didn't know, but cared about anyway, were suffering. My city was in ruins. I felt such suffocating guilt because I was safe and warm and dry. I felt so helpless because there was nothing I could do to help. I can't recall how many times I was overcome with the impulse to get in my car and drive and not stop until I reached the city. But, in the midst of all the grief, there were some amazing moments, too. Like when my coworkers presented me with $800.00 that they had collected for my family, or the random stranger who paid for the shoes that my mother and sister were buying while they were still stranded in Texas, or all of the people who came to help rebuild. Even though there were those good memories, I still can't talk about Katrina or listen to someone else talk about it without crying. I can't watch footage or look at pictures. I'm crying as I type this, and I wasn't even there. I didn't witness anything first-hand. I didn't have to be lifted by helicopter off of my roof or swim to a highway overpass and hope to be rescued. I didn't lose everything I owned. I cannot imagine what it must feel like to be someone who did.