As I watch the evacuation of the city of Houston, so many feelings and memories have flooded (pun intended) back to me. The anxiety of wondering what is to come is not lost on me. I spent the day refreshing river gauge charts, seeing what streets were clear, and checking neighbor's photos as if I was still there, waiting to see if the water was going to get back into my home. That feeling cannot be shaken. You cannot just forget being a part of a major flood event. It sticks to you and all of your belongings.
Almost exactly a year ago, we moved back into our previously flooded home. We had walls, 60% flooring, and about a million and a
half boxes of stuff to be loaded back into our house. We try very hard to be OK with what we were dealt. It could have happened to anyone.
While we did not have totally devastation, our life and home was uprooted in one of the most devastating ways possible. Flooding should be considered one of the worst natural disasters to ever experience. It’s predicted for days, maybe even weeks, you can watch it coming for you, and if it wants to come in, it will, and there is very little you can do to stop it. And when it comes, it stays until it decides to leave.
Even though it feels like a life time ago… our lives have all changed so much, I can vividly remember going back to the house to check on the damage that occurred the day before. When we drove up to the road leading to our neighborhood, you could look to one side and see a lake size mass of water, to the other, completely dry. Once we passed over the two streets-turned-creeks to get to our house, it was like a completely different world than our friends’ houses. Everywhere else was basically business as usual, we were suddenly across the universe in a disaster torn territory. I was truly shocked. To see your things floating about and making mental notes of things ruined is just mind blowing. I don’t think I have the capability to describe the exact feelings I had for months.
Your life stops. Everything stops. There is no bigger shove in the back than seeing the things you’ve collected over the years destroyed right in front of you. The the biggest bitch is that you have to clean it all up.
We’ve spent the last year trying to make normal again. Trying unsuccessfully, NOT to start every conversation with “One time, when my house flooded…” Trying to pretend like hearing people complain about certain things doesn’t upset me when all I can think is, “Well, at least you’ve never had a flooded house.” Trying to show my children what normal is like again. That sleepovers don’t include your parents or last a month. And explaining to them that your house is your haven and you should feel safe there.
Watching this happen, again, on such a larger scale, in a place I used to call home… to my friends who helped my family get through the worst year of my life is gut wrenching. Houston is the city where I built my family, it’s where I learned to be a grown up, and it’s where I made a home.
When you see these disasters on the news, you feel bad for these people. You may wonder why they’d live in an area so easily compromised. It’s so easy to lump it as another unfortunate event. But I was one of those people. My story will be there story, over and over again.
As I watch and read about my friends evacuating and helping others get out of flooded areas, I keep remembering that they’re the people that helped pull up my carpet, tear out my walls, and made me meals. They offered space in their homes for our things and our bodies. They came to my home, not knowing who I was, and told me it was going to be OK. They gave their time and resources to my misfortune because they were there. A year later, I see them doing it again.
And this is Houston. This is Houston Strong.
Pray for them. Pray for all of Houston.
