The storm took so much of me with it. Such a large part, that I sometimes don’t know how I can function or IF I’ll make it through this. And then I put on my game face. Fill myself with faith and strength. Knowledge that if this happened to me, I am made to survive it. And then I fall again, deep into the suffocating sensation that I. SIMPLY. CANNOT. MAKE IT! That if I have to make another decision I might faint. Or fade.
There you have it. That’s what it’s felt like this past year. A yo -yo effect of dizzying ups and downs.
It’s felt like so much more than a year.
It’s attacked every single part of my being. My faith, my marriage, my motherhood, my relationships, my health, my finances, my past, present and future. No layer of my existence has remained unscathed.
It’s taken away my desire to write. Because all my journals that I’d had since I was ten years old turned to a vile, dirty pile of books stuck together. So why should I write again? Does it do any good? I’ve always written first, for myself, and then as a way to reach a larger audience and make a connection with others who might be feeling the same way. I’ve always loved writing. Until Harvey.
F-cking Harvey. You suck. It’s hard for me to even remember life before you. You unfair, drowning storm. How dare you come in the middle of the night to take away our nucleus of security? Our safe place. Our nest of love and laughter. You coward. You thief. I thought I forgave you, as I looked into the waters of the bayou, that day I walked with the kids and saw you. Sitting there quietly between the trees. But you weren’t there any more. It was just the conduit you used to flood us. The bayou. The release that hit so many of us with unexpected wrath.
There’s still so much anger. So many unresolved emotions. And as the anniversary approaches, all the feelings rise up. What now?
I don’t have walls up in our house yet. We continue to rent and pay mortgage. Juggling our finances with fear that money is going to run out. That should another emergency arise, we won’t be able to make it.
What now? Keep going. Live today. Because that’s all we have.
I’m in a major-editing-mode for my documentary. Have to finish by September 6th. Excited for the upcoming screenings. But it’s been an emotional few days of watching our videos of the flood. And all the people’s stories I’ve interviewed. The resounding message from all the families?? Thank you to our community. We wouldn’t be here without our neighbors, families, friends, and even strangers. The people that showed up ready to battle Harvey’s aftermath. Ready to help us pick up our souls and heal day by day.
We need you. We’re not done yet. This isn’t over. We are still fighting. And I won’t give up. Neither will all of the faith-guts-and-grit-filled-families.
A year later, and this isn’t over for so many of us.