their story

Sometimes I get overwhelmed by the amount of work I have to do, the things I'm managing, the moving parts I'm coordinating, and I think "Oh, man, how am I going to wade through all this?"

Then I have days like today, that remind me IT'S NOT ABOUT ME. I am doing this for the families who are struggling with the aftermath of Katrina and trying to put their lives together, piece by piece, day by day. No, I'm not trying to lay on the martyr complex or any stupid crap like that - I guess what I'm trying to express is that sometimes I get so thick into the administrative BS and remove myself too far from the stories of the people, but I only feel good again about what I'm doing when I meet them, talk to them, hear what they have to say.

Case in point: Family X, a husband and wife (both white), retired from their successful careers in California to buy a plot of land in Mississippi. They wanted to be closer to their grandkids, and spend the afternoons fishing in the bayou and lake that ran alongside their property. The house was a 100-year old hunting lodge, which they lovingly restored using their retirement fund. New appliances, climate control system, new siding, fresh paint, new finish on the wood floors, a pool with a swing for the grandkids to launch themselves into the water, ferns growing on the enclosed wrap-around porch upstairs, leather couches, fine rugs, bookshelves overflowing with a lifetime's collection of books, garage with 3 vintage cars the husband enjoyed working on. In August, 2005, the last of the new touches - claw-foot bathtub, low-flush toilet, state of the art dishwasher - were sitting in the workshop ready to be installed.

When the storm came, the family took their dog into the "safe room", a windowless section of the house the first floor. They heard trees crashing into the roof, windows breaking, gas tanks exploding. Outside, the neighborhood was flooded five feet high, and they were now separated from their neighbor's house across the street by a rushing river. When they determined that rainwater was coming into the house through the hole in the kitchen annex roof, they gathered up some things and made for the stairs. Just as quickly, the water began to rise inside the house. It rushed in and virtually chased them upstairs, rising with their feet as they ran to the second floor.

Now in their bedroom upstairs, they watched the water rise and saw their furniture float down the hallway and outside. The water lapped at the boxspring of the bed as they huddled together, man, wife and dog, on the mattress. It rose no further. Finally, about five hours later, the water that had rushed into their community drained out. They emerged from their home to find trees snapped and lying akimbo across their property, all their furniture destroyed, every piece of glass in the house shattered, their new appliances ruined, the cars wrecked, the books floated away, and carcasses of wild animals strewn everywhere. Their living room floor was covered with petroleum-slick mud, writhing with fish and snakes.

For several days, they had no information from the outside world about the extent of Katrina's damage, about when help might arrive to their town, which was cut off from the main highway by downed trees. A friend parked on the highway, walked in past the destroyed town, found the family in their ruined house, and led them away. The wife was unable to speak - she only mumbled as her husband threw a few of their belongings into a sack and they walked north. They spent the next two months with this friend, in a town a few hours away, unable to re-enter their town or their home and assess the damage.

After the roads cleared and they were able to drive home for a look, they knew what they were looking at: everything except the foundation and the frame were totally destroyed. Their belongings were totally lost. The insurance claim came back: denied. After insuring their home in California for over 30 years with one insurance company, they had to switch to a new company when they moved to Mississippi because the old company wouldn't cover them. The new company and the old company both gave them nothing. Zero. FEMA gave them nothing. Red Cross gave them nothing.

Now this retired, educated couple, who had put their whole life savings into their dream house on the bayou, were reduced to accepting free groceries at the local recovery center while they put the remainder of their savings into repairing the house - once again. They are both in their sixties, and they work all day every day on this restoration project. Soon, they will both have to look for jobs and go back to work again.

How do they find the strength to go on? My organization sends them 10-20 volunteers every day to help work on the house.

(That, and the Zoloft.)