Someone yelled across the newsroom, “Water is on the third floor of the Beau Rivage!!”
It was at that moment, I knew the Mississippi Gulf Coast would be changed forever.
That was ten years ago today. And the Gulf Coast has been changed. The definition of recovery is “the action or process of regaining possession or control of something stolen or lost.” The Gulf Coast hasn’t recovered. And in some ways it will never will. But it’s stronger, different, and like scar tissue, tougher. Through the loss, the cleanup, the battles over insurance, the flood plain maps, the inability to rebuild, the change and then the BP Oil Spill, our friends on the Coast have gone through Hell.
Today should be a celebration of their resilience, not Katrina’s brutality.
Yesterday I had the honor of attending a celebration for First Responders in Gulfport. It was the right way to celebrate the right people. I was surrounded by heroes and a few politicians. Mississippi tragically lost 238 but without the bravery of the first responders, that total would have been much, much higher.
Afterwards, I drove down Highway 90 to Pass Christian. I passed empty lot after empty lot. Memories began to crash like Katrina’s surge.
Ten years ago, I worked with Camp Coast Care at several sites nearby and wanted to revisit them. One site, a house near the Walmart, was the the last house destroyed by the surge on the street. It was a cruel twist of fate for its owner Steve and his family. My team and I were helping clean up the lot and looking for his wife’s ring. It was a classic “needle in the haystack” moment.
It was December, cold and rainy. As we scooped through the muck and debris, onne of my fellow volunteers said, “this is nuts.” I smiled and said, “We’re here in the name of our church and I can’t think of a moment closer to God than helping someone heal.”
We didn’t find the ring.
During a break Steve, showed me a white Ford Ranger truck across the street. “That’s where my neighbor’s carport was. They stayed. They drowned. Four more people behind them drowned.” I took a picture and later drew the scene. It’s a drawing that’s the most emotional I’ve ever drawn.
There was also a mid-1960’s Chevrolet pickup sitting down the street. Camille had sucked it out. Katrina had brought it back.
Yesterday I revisited Steve’s homesite. As Dustin Barnes​ and I were looking at the places where I had worked, Steve came out of his rebuilt concrete home. I asked, “Are you Steve?” He said yes but didn’t know me. I introduced myself, told him I had been one of the volunteers who had helped him look for the ring. He smiled and said, “They found that ring two weeks later. Someone sank a shovel in the dirt near where our bedroom had been and there it was.”
They had found the ring.
Steve said, “Everyone is talking about the anniversary but I’d really like to forget.” I heard that a lot yesterday. I’m sure a good number of Katrina survivors have PTSD. And I’m sure watching videos and seeing pictures of the storm will be tough on them today.
But as I drove away from Steve’s new home, I felt happiness for him and pride in the people of the Gulf Coast. Their wounds are healing stronger.
Like the live oaks that dot the Coast, they consistently survive whatever nature throws at them.
