Wednesday, August 31, 2005
A blog about Slidell, the damage it sustained, and people who are trying to get in touch with friends and family. There are some astounding pictures and accounts. Also there is
But for the true horror of the situation, go here, and scroll down to the video section on the sidebar. Watch the Slidell damage flyover and the I-10 twin span flyover.
The twin span has fallen into the Ponchartrain, pieces toppled and shifted like giant dominoes. The bridge my father crossed every day on his way to work, washed away.
I know my journal is now just a bunch of hurricane gloom and doom, but I can't keep my eyes off of the news and the extensive damage that has occurred in New Orleans and in my old home. I no longer live in Louisiana, but I am devastated and in tears.
I was so looking forward to the visit -- to seeing old friends and forgotten faces and places I had not set foot in since my senior year of high school. I have lost that chance now. Even once the floods recede and the rebuilding begins, the watermarked and windscarred town will not be the same town where I spent my youth. I will never be able to go back to my old home; that chance is lost amid the debris and downed trees, the damaged homes and drowned buildings.
It feels like a part of me has died and been swept into the sea with the floodwaters. My childhood home is gone -- my home is gone. Not changed with the gradual influences of time, not slowly moulded into something less familiar -- but ravaged and ripped apart in one great, monstrous move.
It is, on a certain level, precisely how I feel regarding other life events recently: my home is gone.
Perhaps this is too casual a metaphor at this time, given the very real and very widespread devastation, but I know that the reason I have resonated so deeply with this tragedy -- aside from the obvious -- is because it strikes to the core of what I am already feeling.
My home is gone.
| 12:58 AM |
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