When It Happens to You: Louisiana Great Flood of 2016
I can't tell any story worth telling without being long-winded. I'm sorry. No story is even worth telling if it's not worth telling it right. You should know the details. Details are important. You don't have to read the whole thing, but I wish you would.
You never think it will happen to you.
I get it, I really do. I used to be where you're at, one of the blessed ones who'd never known absolute upheaval in my life, though I thought I had. I'd been through serious, gut-wrenching breakups where infidelity was involved. I'd been through losing a loved one unexpectedly in the middle of the night. I'd been on the receiving end of bone-chilling news no one ever wants to hear about the people they care most about, like teenage pregnancy, arrests, abortion, cancer, rape, heart attack, abuse. But still I was clueless.
When we see tragedy happening around the world, even to people we know, we may get a little misty-eyed listening to first-hand accounts, then we share a few articles about it, watch some videos, post a couple statuses, say we're praying for the victims impacted.... But then we go right back to our lives. Because it didn't happen to us -- it happened to someone else, and they'll get through it; people always do.
You know how long it takes for tragedy to become old news? Less than three weeks. Hundreds of thousands of people's lives may be changed, and yet the public gets bored of their stories, gets wrapped up in their own lives again to the point they stop caring about those suffering. Hey, no sense in denying it; we've all been there, despite many good intentions. Out of the amount of people who stop what they're doing to get out there on the front lines to make a difference in the recovery efforts, they are but a fraction of the amount of people who are aware of the need. They are the compassionate few who care enough to disrupt their own lives in favor of helping others get theirs back in order. Perhaps they don't even know what it's like to sit at home on the comfortable couch in the air conditioning in front of the computer or TV and say/think things like, "Man, this stuff about the tsunami in Japan is so depressing. I wish people would stop focusing on it so we can all get on with our lives already."
These, their counterparts, are the clueless, the complacent, just as I once was. Because it didn't happen to us -- and it never will, right?
If only there were a way of knowing. If only we could all be prepared for when the bad stuff comes our way. But we don't have that luxury. So if and when it does happen to you, as it did to me, I wonder if you, like me, will wish you'd behaved differently during all those past tragedies you sloughed off on the other volunteers with bleeding hearts.
As I said, I thought I'd known tragedy before the Great Flood of 2016 in Southern Louisiana. In the spring of 2015, barely over a year earlier, I'd thought finding out I'd not have a job the following year was pretty much the worst thing that could happen to a pair of newlyweds just starting their lives together. Then, through the financial struggle that followed when I couldn't find another job and my spirit was utterly crushed, I thought it couldn't get any worse. When I finally found a new job, things were still tight. My husband, Mark, and I wound up seeking out a new place to live so we could piece ourselves back together.
The night before we were set to move into our new rented condo, we received a call after 11:30 that the place had caught on fire. It wasn't livable.
We wept, we wrestled over what to do next, we cried out to God. We had no place to go now while the condo was being remodeled by the landlord. But God provided. We stayed at the home of some precious church friends who were out of the country doing mission work. Things were looking up.
A couple of months later, we were finally in our newly-renovated condo. It was beautiful. We meticulously made it our own over the next two months, sprucing up the walls, molding, and doors with fresh paint, giving it a hard-core deep cleaning, etc.
We still hadn't unpacked the last box of decor when the rain hit. It rained for days and days off and on, and then it got to where there was no respite. But Mark and I didn't notice this -- we don't have cable or satellite, and even if we'd had it, we aren't big on keeping up with the weather or the news. We didn't know what was brewing over our heads.
Mark and I had gone down to one vehicle when we'd done the financial overhaul on our lives, so in order to accommodate both of our work schedules, we get up around 5:00 AM during the week so that Mark can get me dropped off in time for him to book it to Livingston from Baton Rouge for 7:30. I don't have to be at work until 8:00, but Mark has to have the car for his job. We've learned to adjust to the inconvenience, but on this particular morning of August 12, 2016, we weren't prepared for what we stepped outside to.
We'd been having Flash Flood Warnings go off on our phones all morning, but living in Southern Louisiana, it was custom to honk out an aggravated sleep-moan and turn the wailing sucker off without even a trace of anxiety about flooding. So when we had to trudge through puddles that were significantly more deep than usual to get to our car, we still were mostly unfazed. It would drain out. It always does.
We went on our way. We did have a vague conversation in the car about how it hadn't stopped raining all night. Come to think of it, had it rained all day yesterday? Maybe, but it would be fine, surely. No big deal. Mark dropped me off at work; it was an average Friday morning.
I had clinic into the afternoon at my office that day, so I was buzzing around doing last minute tasks to get ready for it. Then Mark contacted me. He didn't have to go into work -- there were too many roads flooded out across the Parish. I thought he was lucky. I begrudgingly went back to work.
Throughout the morning, my office had a bazillion phone calls from patients cancelling their appointments due to the weather. Every little rainstorm bothers an elderly person who doesn't get around very well, so it was nothing abnormal for a day of rain. But then the numbers started rising to an alarming amount. I'd been through this so many times, though, I figured there would be a storm, it would be bad for awhile, then it would blow over, just like it always did.
But Mark kept calling me. First water had been coming in from under our front door. He'd plugged it up with a towel and kept an eye on it. Then the neighbors were yelling outside; they were all going for sandbags. He went with them to get some for our doors. He put them in place, went back to simply monitoring. Everyone in our little "neighborhood" was staying put, though the water was well-past the ankles now.
Then it rose past the sandbags. Neighbors began shuttling everyone's vehicles to higher ground down the road. Mark got a ride back to our place to start putting furniture upstairs, but he had no way to come get me now. We were both beginning to panic.
By now I'd received multiple phone calls from family members checking on me. The main office had also called to let us know they would be shutting down early; the levy behind their building had broken. They were calling my clinic patients for the afternoon and moving them up. Good! I could work on getting myself home!
Mark's brother, Keith, had volunteered to pick me up and take me home before more roads closed. I called him back and took up his offer. He informed me there was already flooding into the roads near where he lived, which was highly unusual. Range? Flooding?? This was insane! I hoped he wouldn't have any trouble getting to me, and then getting home again later. I watched the clock, minutes passing like molasses draining through a syringe.
Then Murphy's Law kicked in: work was not playing along with my personal needs to get home. Patients kept showing up, kept calling, needing things from me immediately, their daily lives unaffected. Some of them in the office were taking forever with the doctor, some were running late, some completely disregarded the time of their appointment and came whenever they darn-well pleased, even if that meant two and a half hours past their appointment time. Doc, wanting to be professional, fit them in. I understood, but my panic was rising with the waterline. I needed to get home while I still had a ride and a road!
Keith was waiting outside in his truck. Our window to get me home was closing, and he couldn't wait on me much longer or he wouldn't be able to get home either. Tears welled up, and I was glad to have a moment alone at my desk, because I was in full-on crisis mode. I was still waiting on the last patient to come back -- she was new, a referral, so we had to treat her very well although she was mean and selfish. She'd come in without her insurance card and I.D. Who does that? She threw a fit when I told her we couldn't see her without them. She'd left, said she'd come back with them. Wonderful! More waiting!
I was shaking by this point, praying and praying. My nerves were shot, I kept crying off and on. Would Keith leave me? Would I have to stay here all weekend with only a stale loaf of bread in the kitchen to eat, no way to shower, no pillow or blanket, no toiletries, pushing chairs together in the waiting room to sleep in at night? Would the electricity and water stay on? What if it flooded here, too, and I was all alone? I cried some more, checked patients out, plastered a smile on, pretended I wasn't screaming on the inside for them to shut up their mindless jibber-jabber and get out.
Last patient finally came back. She was rude again, and I would've liked to have torn her arms clean off with my bare hands, but I just smiled and scanned her stupid documents, had her fill out the stupid paperwork. Keith was still outside, but it was almost 12:30. He'd said he would give me until then to wrap it up in here. I hoped I wouldn't have a panic attack. I was in a race against time. To think the clock had been dragging just a little while ago....
Once the mean lady went back with the technician, I found the doc. I told him what was going on. He instantly told me to go, bless him! I told him he needed to leave as soon as possible, too, because I knew where he lives -- he may not be able to get through the roads either. He had a renewed sense of urgency as I left.
I thanked Keith profusely for not leaving me behind. It was just after 1:00 now. The rain was still coming down hard, and the temperature had dropped probably 15 degrees or more. We started the slow trek home. The interstate was still open, and there weren't many vehicles on it. Never a good sign around here in the middle of the day.
We got to the Central Thruway, and there were clearer signs of the turmoil the closer Keith got me to home. We pulled onto the final stretch -- traffic was way backed up. Rain still hammered on. My phone was on its last breath of battery, and my charger was at home. Keith let me hook up to his and I called Mark. The neighborhood was halfway underwater now -- we'd better hurry or Keith wouldn't be able to get out of there safely.
There were emergency vehicles ahead. There was no shoulder. Water was everywhere it shouldn't have been. We could already see houses that were completely flooded, yards gone, vehicles ruined, people with hopeless faces trying to get a grip on what was happening to their homes as they stood outside planning a course of action. A firetruck came up behind us. We had to figure out how to maneuver with everyone else so it could get by. Really could have used a shoulder on this stupid road!
We passed Central High School at a slow crawl. The whole practice football field and track were submerged. Only a few hundred feet before we'd hit my road. We made it. Couldn't believe what we were seeing -- it was like the end of the world. Nothing here was untouched. People everywhere were panicking, trying to save what they could. Everyone was drenched.
Keith carefully got me to my back carport. There were only a few vehicles left, larger ones, and the water was almost to the tops of their tires. He helped me out of the truck, and my rolled up jeans didn't matter now -- the water was at my knees. I couldn't open the back door without letting a rush of new water inside, so we waded to the kitchen window, which is high up. I hollered in for Mark. I couldn't climb up through this window, it was far too tall. Mark told us to walk around front, I could climb in through a lower window.
Keith helped me wade through an area that was never meant to be underwater. I carried my shoes, walking barefoot, hoping there were no nails or broken glass to step on, using my toes to help me feel when the sidewalk ended and I'd have nothing but mud and grass below me. I still slipped and nearly fell when this happened, twisting my ankle, but Keith caught me and we kept going.
We walked slowly and painstakingly around the building. There were so many cars at the entrance to the subdivision Mark and I live in front of. Some were parked on top of the median, their owners choosing to wade into the neighborhood on foot. There were only big trucks and Jeeps and SUVs attempting to leave and enter by vehicle. There were more emergency personnel coming and going, some hauling boats. We were starting to see a lot of boats now -- I shivered to think of the elderly people and stay-at-home mothers with small children and babies that were trapped in that subdivision, helpless until someone came for them. I began praying again, asking God to intervene on all our behalves.
Mark and Keith helped me through the window in the living room. It was surreal to see water only inches below my windowsills outside, and even more surreal when I stepped inside and saw what awaited me. If it hadn't been for the reflection of light on the water's surface, you could almost trick yourself into thinking there was no water at all. It was clear, serene, unassuming. But it was ruining my home, endangering my neighborhood.
Mark had been doing his best in here, I could tell. He'd managed to start getting some stuff upstairs, and he'd pulled other things onto higher surfaces down here at least. But our wall of bookshelves was done for, that was obvious. Probably all my downstairs furniture, actually. I tried not to focus too hard on this or I'd have a breakdown. If we hurried, there was still time to save the books, save the DVDs, maybe the food in my pantry and the ottomans....
It didn't take me long to figure out the water was coming in too fast. We couldn't keep up. Why was this happening?? Had we ever been told this was a flood zone before we moved in?? This was too crazy, I couldn't wrap my mind around it. I cried again, and Mark held me a minute. Then I put on my big girl panties and we started hauling more of the belongings we'd worked so hard to earn up the stairs. The flood wasn't going to stop because I needed time to grieve over everything it was touching.
A helpful neighbor came by. He was a Sheriff's Deputy. We didn't know him, but he dedicated the rest of the afternoon to helping us grab load after load to rush upstairs to safety. While we worked, the water inched higher. Past our front windows at the subdivision entrance, idiots kept honking because the people in front of them weren't going fast enough in the high water. When there was no one in front of them to slow them down, waves would crash against the front door, slosh against the front windows. More dirt, debris, and water would seep in under the door, and I wanted to curse them for being so careless.
We stopped every so often to take a short break. Going up and down stairs for so long was taking its toll on all of us. We kept looking out the window, checking the waterline outside and comparing it to the inside, seeing how the neighbors were faring, how many people were still coming and going from the subdivision. Trash floated by like disconnected lily pads in a river, and trashcans that had broken free from neighbors' front courtyards bobbed up and down in the rushing water, headed for wherever the current was taking them.
When it was getting close to dark outside, we heaved the last rescued item upstairs. There were hardly any vehicles passing outside now, hardly anyone walking around in the drizzly muck. Most people had gotten out, we assumed. The deputy left, but not without telling us he'd give us a ride out if we wanted it. He hadn't made up his mind whether he was leaving, and neither had we. But things weren't looking good -- the waterline was just under the windowsill. We were told to pack bags, just in case we had to leave quickly.
Precious little time had passed when the deputy came back, saying if we were leaving, we needed to go NOW -- the water was almost into the cab of his truck. I wasn't done packing our bags. Things were thrown together, all our most important essentials corralled into bags. There wasn't time for thinking every item through; I wasn't even sure what all I had grabbed by the time every zipper was zipped, and every strap was strapped. As we were leaving, Mark flipped the breaker. Things I'd wanted to do before we left didn't get done.
Fonzie, our poor Chorkie, was terrified, shaking and whining in his kennel as we waded out with him toward the truck on the side of the building, bags in hand, jackets and hoods on. I was barefoot again; all I had were flipflops since there'd been no time to find a pair of cruddy shoes in my closet. The water was almost to my waist now outside, though it had only been around 7-8 inches inside the condo.
The deputy's truck was full of junk, so all our stuff had to go into the open bed, which I hadn't had time to prepare for. There were things in them that couldn't be wet. I tried not to think about it as I shimmied into the cab, crammed tight, praying we'd make it out of here.
When everything was loaded up, the deputy swung the truck around. There were several fearful moments Mark and I thought we would go into the ditch, which was overflowing with water and invisible, or that we would get stuck in the mud as the truck's tires spun and squealed. But then they found pavement, and we stopped only long enough for two men with backpacks to climb into the bed as invited by the deputy. Mark and I kept casting furtive glances at them, hoping they wouldn't jet off with what would possibly be the last of our possessions by the end of the day. I prayed harder, more urgently.
As we drove back the way Keith had brought me home, I could already see how much the water had risen. Porches that'd had several feet between them and the waterline now had only inches, and homes that had already seemed dire before were now more than halfway submerged, some with windows busted out from the strong current. There were even fewer people out, and almost every truck on the road had a boat somehow attached to it.
We came to Central High again, but this time there was a policeman blocking the way. The deputy pulled over and walked out to him. They had a short talk, the deputy showed the officer his badge, then came right back, whipping us back onto the road. The policeman let us pass. The police radio in the deputy's truck was alive with dispatchers barking unit numbers, addresses, and road names. I prayed on. The two men in the back of the bed were speaking to each other loudly, but calmly. The deputy had his window down in case they called out, and the water was spraying in my face as it blew in. I prayed through it, knowing this was the least of my worries right now. Mark gripped the handle on the passenger's side so tightly his knuckles were white.
From there, the road wasn't too bad. We were high enough that any water we encountered was easily plowed through. When we made it to Walmart where our vehicle was parked, the men in back got out. They'd needed to come here for food. The deputy helped us carry all our bags to our car. We wished each other luck, thanked him for all his help, and parted ways. We were dripping wet, but we were safe.
We'd decided to go to Mark's parents' house to wait out the night. We figured we'd be perfectly safe there. They'd never flooded before, even in hurricane weather. We filled up our gas tank while we had the chance, then got back on the road toward the Central Thruway. That had been safe when Keith brought me home, so it should still be okay now. The water hadn't risen enough to jeopardize the Thruway.
We didn't get far before we came to an intersection underwater. People in sedans like ours were still going through it, but carefully, and almost on the median. We followed their example and made it safely through once again. The rest of the way to Donnie and Maureen's in Denham Springs was clear. When we turned onto their street, there were no signs of distress, no signs of anything unusual. Everything was calm -- normal. It was as if everything we'd just been through was a world away.
We settled safely at Donnie and Maureen's house. Definitely no flooding in their neighborhood, not even in their yard. We ate dinner, let our guard down, felt relief warm us through. We even baked cookies. The news was on all evening, but we were safe here. It wouldn't get worse than how it was in Central where Mark and I lived. Sure, we didn't know when we'd be able to go back to our condo, or how much the water would rise there, or if there would even be a home for us to come back to; but right now, we were safe, and the worst was probably over.
But we slept fitfully, Mark and I, he in a recliner and me on a couch. Around 5:00, my normal waking time, my internal alarm clock went off and I couldn't go back to sleep. I kept going over all the events of the previous night, and a sense of foreboding came over me that had my stomach in knots. I got on Facebook on my phone and scrolled through for a long time, hoping for better news from others in the community. We hadn't been the only people who'd flooded, but there weren't many others we knew. I felt a bitter stone in my throat. After the ridiculous year Mark and I had just had, we had to go through this, too?
Mark and his dad came in from one of the back rooms where they'd been up watching the news, both unable to sleep either. They were driving to Baton Rouge to pick up Mark's grandmother, Donnie's mom. She lived alone, a widow in her nineties, and she had to take medicine for her dementia. They needed her to be safely with us until all this blew over, and it wasn't looking to let up anytime soon. They left.
I tried to go back to sleep, but couldn't. The storm wasn't letting up? I realized it had rained all night, was still raining. That was two straight days, two straight nights. I sought comfort in the knowledge that God was good on His promises, and He'd promised He would never flood the Earth again. I got back on my phone. I heard Maureen bumping around in the back after awhile, taking a shower.
Then her phone rang. The sun was just peeking up. I could hear from whoever she was talking to that something was wrong. She calmly hung up the phone and told me the men had Grandma, but they couldn't get back into the neighborhood. Just since they'd left, the water had risen high enough that no small vehicle would be able to safely pass through. Mark was going to walk from where they'd parked up at Range to come get us, and we needed to get our stuff together in a hurry so we could leave immediately.
Lights flew on across the house as Maureen woke up Anna, Mark's sister, and we began running around gathering what we could into bags. I'd already done this once, so I knew this time what I needed to do differently. I consolidated bags, shoving everything of importance into one giant duffel and Mark's backpack. We piled stuff from the floor onto the kitchen table and some of the counters and taller surfaces. Mark and I had emptied our fridge and freezer the night before into travel cooler bags with ice packs, and now everything was being left behind here instead of there. What a waste.
Mark came bursting into the house a few minutes later, wild-eyed and officially freaking out. The tension in the house shot up a few notches as we packed until there was just no more time. Mark locked up the house as the rest of us raced out the door with everything we could carry. We now had two dogs, three women, and one man wading down a flooded street. I was amazed at the height of the water; it was almost to my knees in the deeper parts. I realized, with mounting panic, that this was how it had started in Central, too.
We didn't get far before a man in a truck beckoned us onto the trailer he was pulling. There were other neighbors getting onto it, too. I still don't know who they were, or who was driving the truck, but thank God for him! Because as the truck pitched forward, we came to a canal -- it was overflowing, and the current was strong. Water filled the trailer in a flash flood, and our things began floating away. We all yelled to grab this and grab that. We got closer to Range, and it was evident that we were entering a true disaster zone.
This was different than what I'd witnessed in Central -- it was the same panic, the same devastation, but this was in the heart of the city of Denham Springs, right along the main drag. This wasn't some residential back road in a suburb. And the same thing that had happened to us this morning had clearly happened to the rest of the homes in the surrounding neighborhoods. People couldn't get out fast enough, and there wasn't enough high ground to escape to. Folks who had escaped in their vehicles were finding that Range was completely flooded in both directions, and there was nowhere else to go -- the water was closing in on us from all sides, and we were a giant island waiting to be sucked under.
Donnie finally saw us. Grandma was in the car. The truck waited to get us across the street. Traffic was backed up as people from all directions, walking, in large vehicles, in ATVs and on 4-wheelers, were trying to figure out how to get where they were going. It was pure chaos. It was all citizen-driven. There were no officers or other emergency aid yet. It had happened that fast.
Mark and Donnie were yelling back and forth. The water was almost into the door of our sedan where he had it parked with Grandma inside. We wouldn't be able to wait much longer before it would have to be moved, or it wouldn't be leaving that spot. It was the only vehicle we had -- we couldn't lose it!
The truck finally got us to the other side of Range to a parking lot, and we all scrambled off the trailer. Everything was wet again, and we were sopping. But we were all in one piece. Mark had to run across Range. Donnie had crossed the street to us on foot. Grandma was still in the car. Mark would have to move it somehow, get it over here. We watched him drive it through too-high water that inexplicably didn't flood the engine. He made it across to the highest ground we could get to, the parking lot of a bank next door to where the truck had let us off. We all walked over, tugging our luggage along. The rain was still relentless.
We regrouped and got our bearings at the bank. There were ten or so cars in the parking lot, but we quickly figured out none of them were for the bank -- it was closed due to inclement weather. The building was two stories, but there was no way to get inside if the water came up to the first floor. And we were stranded here. There was no getting through the water now in anything less than a jacked-up truck.
We began to see some military vehicles and fire department vehicles. More and more civilian boats. People were using our parking lot to launch their boats onto Range so they could start rescuing people; there was no time to wait for more emergency personnel. Looking around, there were people of all ages and races -- the flood did not discriminate.
We got in contact with Keith, who also lives in Denham Springs. He had gotten a hold of a flat-bottomed boat. It didn't have a motor, but he had chains and ropes and a neighbor willing to help him pull it to us from the nearest spot he could park his truck. So we waited for him. And waited. He'd told us we couldn't bring anything that we couldn't carry, so that meant almost all of what we brought had to stay in the car, all of us. I guess I was still in denial that the floodwaters would reach our car, because I didn't grab much -- somewhere in the back of my mind I thought we would be able to come back for our luggage at least.
When Keith finally arrived, I had Fonzie zipped into my jacket like a pouch, his kennel and basket discarded. Mark had his backpack. I had a garbage bag. Grandma was not understanding what was happening, and we kept having to explain it to her. Getting her into the boat was a delicate task, and then we had to get the dogs in without spooking them. Fonzie was easy enough all snuggled against my belly, but Dina, Donnie and Maureen's old black lab, was petrified and had to be lifted into the boat.
Keith insisted the rest of the women ride in the boat as well and the men would push and pull, so all the luggage that was left was put into the very tip, and every passenger had to sit precariously to keep the boat in balance. We set off with countless people at our backs, awaiting rescue.
The men hauled the boat very slowly down Range. Every inch gained seemed to be bought with blood that couldn't be spared. Donnie kept having to get in and out of the boat. The other men had to take frequent breaks. Then we were told we had to make a detour, that Keith's wife's aunt was trapped at her house with no one to come get her. It wasn't too far out of the way....
But it was. Once we turned onto Veterans Blvd to head toward her street, it was clear this street had been long deserted. That didn't bode well for us. Still the guys pushed on. We heard helicopters overhead constantly. We began to encounter stronger currents, deeper water, wildlife, more obstacles. A snake struggled next to Mark against the current, and was swept off. There were more curbs and the road was curving. There was much more debris down here. Ice chests, benches, chairs, large toys, garbage cans, wooden boards, branches....
We kept going. This was taking forever, and it was still raining. People had to go to the bathroom, we were all hungry. Then some men on a motor boat came. They offered to take the women to safety. Maureen, Grandma, Anna, and Dina went with them. Mark and I didn't want to be separated.
The boat was much lighter without the others, but we were taking on water. The boat had only a makeshift plug. We had to pull the boat to an office building along the route that still had some dry land right around the building. I took Fonzie for a walk around the building while the guys dumped out the water. When I came back, I was asked to give Donnie a break and push in his place. So with Donnie and Fonzie the only ones in the boat, the rest of us pushed and pulled it back onto the buried road. The water was freezing -- no, I reminded myself, the water in Titantic was freezing. This water was just cold.
The current was stronger the further down Veterans we went, and there were some places I could barely touch the bottom. There was more tripping, more fighting to go against the current in the direction we needed to go. Then we saw more people at a real estate office building. Mark and Keith decided to leave the rest of us at this building, and they would go after Aunt Pat -- then they'd come back to get us. It was the fastest option.
I wasn't thrilled with this, but I didn't see what choice we had. At this rate, we'd be getting back to safety at nightfall. So they dropped us off and went on without us. There was a young couple with a baby in a carrier on the porch of the real estate building where they'd left us. There were some other people around the other side of the building we'd seen flickers of. There were also two young men with a motor boat taking a rest and refilling their gas tank. They left when Keith and Mark left, towing them behind them to help them get a jumpstart. We waited impatiently for them to come back with Aunt Pat.
I contacted Maureen to see their whereabouts. Thankfully I'd charged my phone all night, and there was still cell service. She told me they'd just made it to New Covenant Baptist Church, and were safe and sound. We kept waiting for Keith and Mark to come back. I tried not to worry my mind with thoughts of all the things that could go wrong on either end of being separated from my husband.
I don't know how long they were gone, but then they were back, Aunt Pat in tow. She was very upset. I got back in the boat and we shoved off, heading for Florida Blvd, which was well underwater by now in most places.
Once again, the trek took forever. There was more floating debris and underwater obstacles than anything we'd encountered yet: landscaping, multi-layered parking lots, stalled cars, electric boxes, campaign signs. It was one thing after another. We went on like this, painfully slow and faltering, until we hit Florida. There were so many boats going up and down this strip. We were towed along by the fire department a bit, which was cumbersome in the current terrain. We let them leave us at a steady spot, knowing there were too many other people who needed rescuing who didn't have anyone or anything to aid them.
Then we got to a section where the current had created a river rapid. We watched multiple motor boats struggle through it, all of them nearly capsizing, then running into buildings before straightening out again. It was terrifying. If the motor boats were having a hard time, what hope did we have?!
But we had to get across. It was the only thing standing between us and dry land, which we could see half a mile ahead. The guys decided to try.
It was a bad idea. Almost immediately the current swept Keith and Mark under, and they instinctively latched onto the boat to try to pull themselves up. The tiny boat surged downward from their combined weight, breaking the surface and taking on water where our luggage was. I flung myself over it all and held it under me while the guys managed to pull the boat backward to safety as they caught their bearings. Aunt Pat was unnerved, Fonzie was a half-drowned rat, and the guys were just trying to stay afloat.
We attached ourselves temporarily to some poles on a nearby building. The guys caught their breath. I called Maureen again. She said Casey, Keith's wife, had picked them up from the church and they were at Casey and Keith's house now. So that's where we'd go once we reached Keith's truck. Now if we could just get there....
We worked out a plan. There was a side street next to us that was going with the current, and if we rode the current that way, it may be easier to get to Keith's truck from that direction. We gave it a try. We floated on the current down toward Range, away from Florida. A man with an accent passed us with some people in his motor boat. He told us that if we could attach ourselves to something, he'd come right back for us after dropping them off. But there was nothing to attach to that didn't have electricity running through it. So we continued floating.
Thankfully, the man caught up. He helped the guys onto his boat, and Aunt Pat and I stayed in the flat-bottom. The man towed us all the way to Keith's truck. Praise God, we'd made it! Dry (read not flooded) land at last! If I'd had the energy, I would have cried; we'd been in the boat close to four hours.
We checked with the emergency personnel around us launching more rescue boats -- we still had open road to get to Keith's house, but we had to hurry. All the luggage was emptied into Keith's truck bed. Mark and I climbed in behind it. My bare feet got caught on something, and my pinky toe was pulled too far from my foot. The pain was excruciating, but there was no blood. I hoped it wasn't broken. I didn't know how I'd managed to get this far in my bare feet without hurting myself.
There were more blockades between us and Keith's house on the dry part of Florida. He used his badge for the military to get us through. This was the second time Mark and I had been fortunate to be with someone with a badge. As we drove by, we saw Humvees with boats, one right after another.
We got to Keith's and Casey's at last. We unloaded. Maureen and Anna had bathed and were in dry clothes. Casey ushered me into the shower. My brain was mush. When I got out, the others were doing laundry and trying to dry out the luggage, salvaging what was still good after being submerged again and again in foul water during the hellish boat ride. I went through my bag and saw just how little I'd brought with me. None of it was very useful. At least I had one outfit, some socks, some undies. My phone and charger were fine, having been in a waterproof bag inside the garbage bag.
The men got cleaned up. Casey fed us leftovers, whatever she could scrounge up. She had a newborn and a toddler who didn't understand what was happening. We were all emotional and exhausted, still in shock. We thought we'd been safe. Were we safe here?
The men stayed outside, watching the water, measuring its movement. The neighborhood was deciding whether to stay or leave. It was Central all over again. Casey had bags for her kids in case we needed another quick getaway. Her vehicle was packed and ready.
We had less than two hours of hopefulness that we wouldn't have to relocate again. But just as suddenly as it had been happening, the water was suddenly too high to stay much longer. Everyone gathered their belongings again. We were all wearing clothes that belonged to Keith and Casey, but we went out into the rain again. Casey took the kids in her SUV to her sister's house. Keith and Mark took the boat out to get Casey's parents and some other relatives around the corner. They were piled into another SUV and sent off to Casey's brother's. The guys got the boat into the back of Keith's truck. Mark, Anna, and the dogs and I rode in the boat to keep it anchored into the truck. Keith drove us to Casey's sister's in Walker where she'd gone.
We passed much of the same. It was everything we'd already seen today, and yesterday. People making preparations, hoping the water didn't make it to them. But the rain still hadn't stopped. It was just a matter of time for them, probably.
When we joined Casey and the kids, there were 25 people and 10 pets at Lindsey and Brad's house. 2 newborns. 5 more kids below the age of 7. All of us homeless aside from the hosts. They fed us, let us shower, prepared a place for us to sleep. Most everyone got on the phone and began making insurance claims.
But we were all on edge. We'd have to leave here, too, right? When would it be? The middle of the night? Early in the morning? What would we lose this time? Where would we go? We were running out of places to escape to. Everyone else we knew was also on the move, or we couldn't get to them. We were stuck once again, water on all sides.
By late that night, we were still safe, yet none of us felt it. We spread out in the living room, hoping for sleep, Mark and I sharing a pallet on the hardwood floor next to Keith, everyone else on random furniture. We were thankful for extra pillows so we could put them underneath us for some respite from the hard floor. But even so, sleep was little for all of us. There were so many noises, lights, and bad dreams. I dreamed of blackness, where I knew nothing but the feeling of being in a rocking boat. I was startled awake multiple times by toppling overboard, and Mark would reach out to me each time asking if I was okay. Yes, I was fine, just dreaming about being in the boat again.
Sometime around five AM Sunday, a light came on in my face. Lindsey said the water had risen in the creek behind the house. We all shot up and began readying ourselves to leave at a moment's notice. At this point, I was beginning to feel like an expert at evacuating. Everything Mark and I owned was already bundled together in the kitchen, just waiting for this to happen.
There was talk of making for one of the shelters that hadn't been evacuated. I hoped we wouldn't have to go there -- we'd already heard some horror stories. But eventually the urgency of leaving dwindled, and we all sat around the TV watching the news. For hours upon hours we watched. The men kept checking the creek, and it had gone down some. It seemed to be fluctuating.
So we were back to the waiting game. The flood was more widespread now. Baton Rouge was getting today what we'd gotten yesterday. The area was officially declared a disaster zone. FEMA was coming, the Red Cross, all kinds of other organizations. There was no internet. There was limited cell service for AT&T, so we didn't have a way of contacting people outside of where we were. Even my pinky toe was throbbing today, and when I looked down, it was swollen and purple-black. All I could do was take an aspirin to ease the pain. It was almost funny how such a small injury could hurt so much, as if all the emotion my brain couldn't quite feel yet was being contained into my stupid toe.
For days we sat there. We found out from an aerial shot of Walker near the interstate that mine and Mark's storage unit had been flooded, too. All my teaching stuff, my wedding dress, our Christmas decor, our keepsakes.... Mark reminded me it was out of our control. I allowed myself to cry once over it.
The men were restless. Some of them dared to leave, taking various trips to various houses to check on them. No good news came back until Monday when they saw the condo. The report was maximum 4 feet indoors. Mark and I were ecstatic -- we'd gone from having lost everything to having at least our possessions upstairs.
Then the survivor's guilt set in. The report had not been so great with Keith and Casey's house, and no one had been able to get anywhere close to Donnie and Maureen's. We didn't know what to expect about our abandoned car yet, but we still had much to be thankful for.
I don't know what day it was before any of the women left the house. The days had begun to blend together. I went one day with a few people to find more food. We found a CVS that was open in Walker. There wasn't much in terms of actual food. They'd been picked over of all the essentials. We tried Walmart. It had been underwater days before, but now they were letting people in a few at a time. They were well-stocked with the necessities.
The next few days were similar -- errands that were drops in the bucket of making it. Mark and I had to go to Mississippi to get a rental car because all the ones in Louisiana were unavailable for the same reason we needed one. It was an all-day affair. Many others had to do the same -- everyone we met there was from our area. On another day, Casey, Anna, and I drove out to Hammond for some stuff for Anna, and while we were there, we saw kids swimming in a pool. It was a blissfully regular hot day for them. It made my heart hurt with jealousy.
We stayed with Lindsey and Brad for almost a week. Grandma's was dry, so Donnie and Maureen took her back as soon as possible and stayed with her there. We eventually got word that their house had water up to the roof. All their cars were done for, and we knew that meant ours was, too. There was more grieving over this.
Mark and I were able to get started on mudding out our condo before anyone else, and he even rescued the luggage from our kaput vehicle. We washed everything that was salvageable at Grandma's.
Once they were to where we could get to them, we helped Keith with his house, and Donnie and Maureen with theirs. Their homes had been flooded by backwater from the rivers, and were more stinky and brown. Their homes smelled like something wet had died inside of them and was rotting away. We all had to wear masks, and still we became nauseated after a few hours.
By Friday, Mark and I were able to stay in our condo upstairs. I was beside myself with happiness; it was the first time I'd had privacy in a week. To sleep in my own bed was enough to want to faint out of pure celebration.
My mom and aunt came on Saturday from Texas with supplies, and they helped us while they were down. I was thrilled to have them, especially since I'd become so overwhelmed I could hardly function. Everything they saw as we drove between places horrified them.With so many people gutting at once, businesses and homes alike, the streets looked like everyone was having a really crappy yard sale at the same time.
The days since have been filled with disgusting laundry, wiping and scrubbing things, organizing things, reoganizing things. But we've slept. We've eaten. We've showered. The nightmares have stopped. We don't completely freak out when it rains, though Flash Flood warnings are taken very seriously now. We're slowly picking up the pieces. Our new "normal" sucks, but we're grateful to have what we have. God is good, He gives and He takes away. And I can promise you, any future tragedies will have more than just my sympathy...they will have my empathy. My help. My support. Praise God for lessons learned, and for broadening perspective.
I leave you with these words from a friend, who says exactly the heart of our community during this time:
I get it, I really do. I used to be where you're at, one of the blessed ones who'd never known absolute upheaval in my life, though I thought I had. I'd been through serious, gut-wrenching breakups where infidelity was involved. I'd been through losing a loved one unexpectedly in the middle of the night. I'd been on the receiving end of bone-chilling news no one ever wants to hear about the people they care most about, like teenage pregnancy, arrests, abortion, cancer, rape, heart attack, abuse. But still I was clueless.
When we see tragedy happening around the world, even to people we know, we may get a little misty-eyed listening to first-hand accounts, then we share a few articles about it, watch some videos, post a couple statuses, say we're praying for the victims impacted.... But then we go right back to our lives. Because it didn't happen to us -- it happened to someone else, and they'll get through it; people always do.
You know how long it takes for tragedy to become old news? Less than three weeks. Hundreds of thousands of people's lives may be changed, and yet the public gets bored of their stories, gets wrapped up in their own lives again to the point they stop caring about those suffering. Hey, no sense in denying it; we've all been there, despite many good intentions. Out of the amount of people who stop what they're doing to get out there on the front lines to make a difference in the recovery efforts, they are but a fraction of the amount of people who are aware of the need. They are the compassionate few who care enough to disrupt their own lives in favor of helping others get theirs back in order. Perhaps they don't even know what it's like to sit at home on the comfortable couch in the air conditioning in front of the computer or TV and say/think things like, "Man, this stuff about the tsunami in Japan is so depressing. I wish people would stop focusing on it so we can all get on with our lives already."
These, their counterparts, are the clueless, the complacent, just as I once was. Because it didn't happen to us -- and it never will, right?
If only there were a way of knowing. If only we could all be prepared for when the bad stuff comes our way. But we don't have that luxury. So if and when it does happen to you, as it did to me, I wonder if you, like me, will wish you'd behaved differently during all those past tragedies you sloughed off on the other volunteers with bleeding hearts.
As I said, I thought I'd known tragedy before the Great Flood of 2016 in Southern Louisiana. In the spring of 2015, barely over a year earlier, I'd thought finding out I'd not have a job the following year was pretty much the worst thing that could happen to a pair of newlyweds just starting their lives together. Then, through the financial struggle that followed when I couldn't find another job and my spirit was utterly crushed, I thought it couldn't get any worse. When I finally found a new job, things were still tight. My husband, Mark, and I wound up seeking out a new place to live so we could piece ourselves back together.
The night before we were set to move into our new rented condo, we received a call after 11:30 that the place had caught on fire. It wasn't livable.
A couple of months later, we were finally in our newly-renovated condo. It was beautiful. We meticulously made it our own over the next two months, sprucing up the walls, molding, and doors with fresh paint, giving it a hard-core deep cleaning, etc.
We still hadn't unpacked the last box of decor when the rain hit. It rained for days and days off and on, and then it got to where there was no respite. But Mark and I didn't notice this -- we don't have cable or satellite, and even if we'd had it, we aren't big on keeping up with the weather or the news. We didn't know what was brewing over our heads.
Mark and I had gone down to one vehicle when we'd done the financial overhaul on our lives, so in order to accommodate both of our work schedules, we get up around 5:00 AM during the week so that Mark can get me dropped off in time for him to book it to Livingston from Baton Rouge for 7:30. I don't have to be at work until 8:00, but Mark has to have the car for his job. We've learned to adjust to the inconvenience, but on this particular morning of August 12, 2016, we weren't prepared for what we stepped outside to.
We'd been having Flash Flood Warnings go off on our phones all morning, but living in Southern Louisiana, it was custom to honk out an aggravated sleep-moan and turn the wailing sucker off without even a trace of anxiety about flooding. So when we had to trudge through puddles that were significantly more deep than usual to get to our car, we still were mostly unfazed. It would drain out. It always does.
We went on our way. We did have a vague conversation in the car about how it hadn't stopped raining all night. Come to think of it, had it rained all day yesterday? Maybe, but it would be fine, surely. No big deal. Mark dropped me off at work; it was an average Friday morning.
I had clinic into the afternoon at my office that day, so I was buzzing around doing last minute tasks to get ready for it. Then Mark contacted me. He didn't have to go into work -- there were too many roads flooded out across the Parish. I thought he was lucky. I begrudgingly went back to work.
Throughout the morning, my office had a bazillion phone calls from patients cancelling their appointments due to the weather. Every little rainstorm bothers an elderly person who doesn't get around very well, so it was nothing abnormal for a day of rain. But then the numbers started rising to an alarming amount. I'd been through this so many times, though, I figured there would be a storm, it would be bad for awhile, then it would blow over, just like it always did.
But Mark kept calling me. First water had been coming in from under our front door. He'd plugged it up with a towel and kept an eye on it. Then the neighbors were yelling outside; they were all going for sandbags. He went with them to get some for our doors. He put them in place, went back to simply monitoring. Everyone in our little "neighborhood" was staying put, though the water was well-past the ankles now.
Then it rose past the sandbags. Neighbors began shuttling everyone's vehicles to higher ground down the road. Mark got a ride back to our place to start putting furniture upstairs, but he had no way to come get me now. We were both beginning to panic.
By now I'd received multiple phone calls from family members checking on me. The main office had also called to let us know they would be shutting down early; the levy behind their building had broken. They were calling my clinic patients for the afternoon and moving them up. Good! I could work on getting myself home!
Mark's brother, Keith, had volunteered to pick me up and take me home before more roads closed. I called him back and took up his offer. He informed me there was already flooding into the roads near where he lived, which was highly unusual. Range? Flooding?? This was insane! I hoped he wouldn't have any trouble getting to me, and then getting home again later. I watched the clock, minutes passing like molasses draining through a syringe.
Then Murphy's Law kicked in: work was not playing along with my personal needs to get home. Patients kept showing up, kept calling, needing things from me immediately, their daily lives unaffected. Some of them in the office were taking forever with the doctor, some were running late, some completely disregarded the time of their appointment and came whenever they darn-well pleased, even if that meant two and a half hours past their appointment time. Doc, wanting to be professional, fit them in. I understood, but my panic was rising with the waterline. I needed to get home while I still had a ride and a road!
Keith was waiting outside in his truck. Our window to get me home was closing, and he couldn't wait on me much longer or he wouldn't be able to get home either. Tears welled up, and I was glad to have a moment alone at my desk, because I was in full-on crisis mode. I was still waiting on the last patient to come back -- she was new, a referral, so we had to treat her very well although she was mean and selfish. She'd come in without her insurance card and I.D. Who does that? She threw a fit when I told her we couldn't see her without them. She'd left, said she'd come back with them. Wonderful! More waiting!
I was shaking by this point, praying and praying. My nerves were shot, I kept crying off and on. Would Keith leave me? Would I have to stay here all weekend with only a stale loaf of bread in the kitchen to eat, no way to shower, no pillow or blanket, no toiletries, pushing chairs together in the waiting room to sleep in at night? Would the electricity and water stay on? What if it flooded here, too, and I was all alone? I cried some more, checked patients out, plastered a smile on, pretended I wasn't screaming on the inside for them to shut up their mindless jibber-jabber and get out.
Last patient finally came back. She was rude again, and I would've liked to have torn her arms clean off with my bare hands, but I just smiled and scanned her stupid documents, had her fill out the stupid paperwork. Keith was still outside, but it was almost 12:30. He'd said he would give me until then to wrap it up in here. I hoped I wouldn't have a panic attack. I was in a race against time. To think the clock had been dragging just a little while ago....
Once the mean lady went back with the technician, I found the doc. I told him what was going on. He instantly told me to go, bless him! I told him he needed to leave as soon as possible, too, because I knew where he lives -- he may not be able to get through the roads either. He had a renewed sense of urgency as I left.
I thanked Keith profusely for not leaving me behind. It was just after 1:00 now. The rain was still coming down hard, and the temperature had dropped probably 15 degrees or more. We started the slow trek home. The interstate was still open, and there weren't many vehicles on it. Never a good sign around here in the middle of the day.
We got to the Central Thruway, and there were clearer signs of the turmoil the closer Keith got me to home. We pulled onto the final stretch -- traffic was way backed up. Rain still hammered on. My phone was on its last breath of battery, and my charger was at home. Keith let me hook up to his and I called Mark. The neighborhood was halfway underwater now -- we'd better hurry or Keith wouldn't be able to get out of there safely.
There were emergency vehicles ahead. There was no shoulder. Water was everywhere it shouldn't have been. We could already see houses that were completely flooded, yards gone, vehicles ruined, people with hopeless faces trying to get a grip on what was happening to their homes as they stood outside planning a course of action. A firetruck came up behind us. We had to figure out how to maneuver with everyone else so it could get by. Really could have used a shoulder on this stupid road!
We passed Central High School at a slow crawl. The whole practice football field and track were submerged. Only a few hundred feet before we'd hit my road. We made it. Couldn't believe what we were seeing -- it was like the end of the world. Nothing here was untouched. People everywhere were panicking, trying to save what they could. Everyone was drenched.
Keith carefully got me to my back carport. There were only a few vehicles left, larger ones, and the water was almost to the tops of their tires. He helped me out of the truck, and my rolled up jeans didn't matter now -- the water was at my knees. I couldn't open the back door without letting a rush of new water inside, so we waded to the kitchen window, which is high up. I hollered in for Mark. I couldn't climb up through this window, it was far too tall. Mark told us to walk around front, I could climb in through a lower window.
Keith helped me wade through an area that was never meant to be underwater. I carried my shoes, walking barefoot, hoping there were no nails or broken glass to step on, using my toes to help me feel when the sidewalk ended and I'd have nothing but mud and grass below me. I still slipped and nearly fell when this happened, twisting my ankle, but Keith caught me and we kept going.
We walked slowly and painstakingly around the building. There were so many cars at the entrance to the subdivision Mark and I live in front of. Some were parked on top of the median, their owners choosing to wade into the neighborhood on foot. There were only big trucks and Jeeps and SUVs attempting to leave and enter by vehicle. There were more emergency personnel coming and going, some hauling boats. We were starting to see a lot of boats now -- I shivered to think of the elderly people and stay-at-home mothers with small children and babies that were trapped in that subdivision, helpless until someone came for them. I began praying again, asking God to intervene on all our behalves.
Mark and Keith helped me through the window in the living room. It was surreal to see water only inches below my windowsills outside, and even more surreal when I stepped inside and saw what awaited me. If it hadn't been for the reflection of light on the water's surface, you could almost trick yourself into thinking there was no water at all. It was clear, serene, unassuming. But it was ruining my home, endangering my neighborhood.
Mark had been doing his best in here, I could tell. He'd managed to start getting some stuff upstairs, and he'd pulled other things onto higher surfaces down here at least. But our wall of bookshelves was done for, that was obvious. Probably all my downstairs furniture, actually. I tried not to focus too hard on this or I'd have a breakdown. If we hurried, there was still time to save the books, save the DVDs, maybe the food in my pantry and the ottomans....
It didn't take me long to figure out the water was coming in too fast. We couldn't keep up. Why was this happening?? Had we ever been told this was a flood zone before we moved in?? This was too crazy, I couldn't wrap my mind around it. I cried again, and Mark held me a minute. Then I put on my big girl panties and we started hauling more of the belongings we'd worked so hard to earn up the stairs. The flood wasn't going to stop because I needed time to grieve over everything it was touching.
A helpful neighbor came by. He was a Sheriff's Deputy. We didn't know him, but he dedicated the rest of the afternoon to helping us grab load after load to rush upstairs to safety. While we worked, the water inched higher. Past our front windows at the subdivision entrance, idiots kept honking because the people in front of them weren't going fast enough in the high water. When there was no one in front of them to slow them down, waves would crash against the front door, slosh against the front windows. More dirt, debris, and water would seep in under the door, and I wanted to curse them for being so careless.
We stopped every so often to take a short break. Going up and down stairs for so long was taking its toll on all of us. We kept looking out the window, checking the waterline outside and comparing it to the inside, seeing how the neighbors were faring, how many people were still coming and going from the subdivision. Trash floated by like disconnected lily pads in a river, and trashcans that had broken free from neighbors' front courtyards bobbed up and down in the rushing water, headed for wherever the current was taking them.
When it was getting close to dark outside, we heaved the last rescued item upstairs. There were hardly any vehicles passing outside now, hardly anyone walking around in the drizzly muck. Most people had gotten out, we assumed. The deputy left, but not without telling us he'd give us a ride out if we wanted it. He hadn't made up his mind whether he was leaving, and neither had we. But things weren't looking good -- the waterline was just under the windowsill. We were told to pack bags, just in case we had to leave quickly.
Precious little time had passed when the deputy came back, saying if we were leaving, we needed to go NOW -- the water was almost into the cab of his truck. I wasn't done packing our bags. Things were thrown together, all our most important essentials corralled into bags. There wasn't time for thinking every item through; I wasn't even sure what all I had grabbed by the time every zipper was zipped, and every strap was strapped. As we were leaving, Mark flipped the breaker. Things I'd wanted to do before we left didn't get done.
Fonzie, our poor Chorkie, was terrified, shaking and whining in his kennel as we waded out with him toward the truck on the side of the building, bags in hand, jackets and hoods on. I was barefoot again; all I had were flipflops since there'd been no time to find a pair of cruddy shoes in my closet. The water was almost to my waist now outside, though it had only been around 7-8 inches inside the condo.
The deputy's truck was full of junk, so all our stuff had to go into the open bed, which I hadn't had time to prepare for. There were things in them that couldn't be wet. I tried not to think about it as I shimmied into the cab, crammed tight, praying we'd make it out of here.
When everything was loaded up, the deputy swung the truck around. There were several fearful moments Mark and I thought we would go into the ditch, which was overflowing with water and invisible, or that we would get stuck in the mud as the truck's tires spun and squealed. But then they found pavement, and we stopped only long enough for two men with backpacks to climb into the bed as invited by the deputy. Mark and I kept casting furtive glances at them, hoping they wouldn't jet off with what would possibly be the last of our possessions by the end of the day. I prayed harder, more urgently.
As we drove back the way Keith had brought me home, I could already see how much the water had risen. Porches that'd had several feet between them and the waterline now had only inches, and homes that had already seemed dire before were now more than halfway submerged, some with windows busted out from the strong current. There were even fewer people out, and almost every truck on the road had a boat somehow attached to it.
We came to Central High again, but this time there was a policeman blocking the way. The deputy pulled over and walked out to him. They had a short talk, the deputy showed the officer his badge, then came right back, whipping us back onto the road. The policeman let us pass. The police radio in the deputy's truck was alive with dispatchers barking unit numbers, addresses, and road names. I prayed on. The two men in the back of the bed were speaking to each other loudly, but calmly. The deputy had his window down in case they called out, and the water was spraying in my face as it blew in. I prayed through it, knowing this was the least of my worries right now. Mark gripped the handle on the passenger's side so tightly his knuckles were white.
From there, the road wasn't too bad. We were high enough that any water we encountered was easily plowed through. When we made it to Walmart where our vehicle was parked, the men in back got out. They'd needed to come here for food. The deputy helped us carry all our bags to our car. We wished each other luck, thanked him for all his help, and parted ways. We were dripping wet, but we were safe.
We'd decided to go to Mark's parents' house to wait out the night. We figured we'd be perfectly safe there. They'd never flooded before, even in hurricane weather. We filled up our gas tank while we had the chance, then got back on the road toward the Central Thruway. That had been safe when Keith brought me home, so it should still be okay now. The water hadn't risen enough to jeopardize the Thruway.
We didn't get far before we came to an intersection underwater. People in sedans like ours were still going through it, but carefully, and almost on the median. We followed their example and made it safely through once again. The rest of the way to Donnie and Maureen's in Denham Springs was clear. When we turned onto their street, there were no signs of distress, no signs of anything unusual. Everything was calm -- normal. It was as if everything we'd just been through was a world away.
We settled safely at Donnie and Maureen's house. Definitely no flooding in their neighborhood, not even in their yard. We ate dinner, let our guard down, felt relief warm us through. We even baked cookies. The news was on all evening, but we were safe here. It wouldn't get worse than how it was in Central where Mark and I lived. Sure, we didn't know when we'd be able to go back to our condo, or how much the water would rise there, or if there would even be a home for us to come back to; but right now, we were safe, and the worst was probably over.
But we slept fitfully, Mark and I, he in a recliner and me on a couch. Around 5:00, my normal waking time, my internal alarm clock went off and I couldn't go back to sleep. I kept going over all the events of the previous night, and a sense of foreboding came over me that had my stomach in knots. I got on Facebook on my phone and scrolled through for a long time, hoping for better news from others in the community. We hadn't been the only people who'd flooded, but there weren't many others we knew. I felt a bitter stone in my throat. After the ridiculous year Mark and I had just had, we had to go through this, too?
Mark and his dad came in from one of the back rooms where they'd been up watching the news, both unable to sleep either. They were driving to Baton Rouge to pick up Mark's grandmother, Donnie's mom. She lived alone, a widow in her nineties, and she had to take medicine for her dementia. They needed her to be safely with us until all this blew over, and it wasn't looking to let up anytime soon. They left.
I tried to go back to sleep, but couldn't. The storm wasn't letting up? I realized it had rained all night, was still raining. That was two straight days, two straight nights. I sought comfort in the knowledge that God was good on His promises, and He'd promised He would never flood the Earth again. I got back on my phone. I heard Maureen bumping around in the back after awhile, taking a shower.
Then her phone rang. The sun was just peeking up. I could hear from whoever she was talking to that something was wrong. She calmly hung up the phone and told me the men had Grandma, but they couldn't get back into the neighborhood. Just since they'd left, the water had risen high enough that no small vehicle would be able to safely pass through. Mark was going to walk from where they'd parked up at Range to come get us, and we needed to get our stuff together in a hurry so we could leave immediately.
Lights flew on across the house as Maureen woke up Anna, Mark's sister, and we began running around gathering what we could into bags. I'd already done this once, so I knew this time what I needed to do differently. I consolidated bags, shoving everything of importance into one giant duffel and Mark's backpack. We piled stuff from the floor onto the kitchen table and some of the counters and taller surfaces. Mark and I had emptied our fridge and freezer the night before into travel cooler bags with ice packs, and now everything was being left behind here instead of there. What a waste.
Mark came bursting into the house a few minutes later, wild-eyed and officially freaking out. The tension in the house shot up a few notches as we packed until there was just no more time. Mark locked up the house as the rest of us raced out the door with everything we could carry. We now had two dogs, three women, and one man wading down a flooded street. I was amazed at the height of the water; it was almost to my knees in the deeper parts. I realized, with mounting panic, that this was how it had started in Central, too.
We didn't get far before a man in a truck beckoned us onto the trailer he was pulling. There were other neighbors getting onto it, too. I still don't know who they were, or who was driving the truck, but thank God for him! Because as the truck pitched forward, we came to a canal -- it was overflowing, and the current was strong. Water filled the trailer in a flash flood, and our things began floating away. We all yelled to grab this and grab that. We got closer to Range, and it was evident that we were entering a true disaster zone.
This was different than what I'd witnessed in Central -- it was the same panic, the same devastation, but this was in the heart of the city of Denham Springs, right along the main drag. This wasn't some residential back road in a suburb. And the same thing that had happened to us this morning had clearly happened to the rest of the homes in the surrounding neighborhoods. People couldn't get out fast enough, and there wasn't enough high ground to escape to. Folks who had escaped in their vehicles were finding that Range was completely flooded in both directions, and there was nowhere else to go -- the water was closing in on us from all sides, and we were a giant island waiting to be sucked under.
Donnie finally saw us. Grandma was in the car. The truck waited to get us across the street. Traffic was backed up as people from all directions, walking, in large vehicles, in ATVs and on 4-wheelers, were trying to figure out how to get where they were going. It was pure chaos. It was all citizen-driven. There were no officers or other emergency aid yet. It had happened that fast.
Mark and Donnie were yelling back and forth. The water was almost into the door of our sedan where he had it parked with Grandma inside. We wouldn't be able to wait much longer before it would have to be moved, or it wouldn't be leaving that spot. It was the only vehicle we had -- we couldn't lose it!
We regrouped and got our bearings at the bank. There were ten or so cars in the parking lot, but we quickly figured out none of them were for the bank -- it was closed due to inclement weather. The building was two stories, but there was no way to get inside if the water came up to the first floor. And we were stranded here. There was no getting through the water now in anything less than a jacked-up truck.
We began to see some military vehicles and fire department vehicles. More and more civilian boats. People were using our parking lot to launch their boats onto Range so they could start rescuing people; there was no time to wait for more emergency personnel. Looking around, there were people of all ages and races -- the flood did not discriminate.
I wasn't thrilled with this, but I didn't see what choice we had. At this rate, we'd be getting back to safety at nightfall. So they dropped us off and went on without us. There was a young couple with a baby in a carrier on the porch of the real estate building where they'd left us. There were some other people around the other side of the building we'd seen flickers of. There were also two young men with a motor boat taking a rest and refilling their gas tank. They left when Keith and Mark left, towing them behind them to help them get a jumpstart. We waited impatiently for them to come back with Aunt Pat.
I contacted Maureen to see their whereabouts. Thankfully I'd charged my phone all night, and there was still cell service. She told me they'd just made it to New Covenant Baptist Church, and were safe and sound. We kept waiting for Keith and Mark to come back. I tried not to worry my mind with thoughts of all the things that could go wrong on either end of being separated from my husband.
I don't know how long they were gone, but then they were back, Aunt Pat in tow. She was very upset. I got back in the boat and we shoved off, heading for Florida Blvd, which was well underwater by now in most places.
Then we got to a section where the current had created a river rapid. We watched multiple motor boats struggle through it, all of them nearly capsizing, then running into buildings before straightening out again. It was terrifying. If the motor boats were having a hard time, what hope did we have?!
But we had to get across. It was the only thing standing between us and dry land, which we could see half a mile ahead. The guys decided to try.
It was a bad idea. Almost immediately the current swept Keith and Mark under, and they instinctively latched onto the boat to try to pull themselves up. The tiny boat surged downward from their combined weight, breaking the surface and taking on water where our luggage was. I flung myself over it all and held it under me while the guys managed to pull the boat backward to safety as they caught their bearings. Aunt Pat was unnerved, Fonzie was a half-drowned rat, and the guys were just trying to stay afloat.
We attached ourselves temporarily to some poles on a nearby building. The guys caught their breath. I called Maureen again. She said Casey, Keith's wife, had picked them up from the church and they were at Casey and Keith's house now. So that's where we'd go once we reached Keith's truck. Now if we could just get there....
Thankfully, the man caught up. He helped the guys onto his boat, and Aunt Pat and I stayed in the flat-bottom. The man towed us all the way to Keith's truck. Praise God, we'd made it! Dry (read not flooded) land at last! If I'd had the energy, I would have cried; we'd been in the boat close to four hours.
We checked with the emergency personnel around us launching more rescue boats -- we still had open road to get to Keith's house, but we had to hurry. All the luggage was emptied into Keith's truck bed. Mark and I climbed in behind it. My bare feet got caught on something, and my pinky toe was pulled too far from my foot. The pain was excruciating, but there was no blood. I hoped it wasn't broken. I didn't know how I'd managed to get this far in my bare feet without hurting myself.
There were more blockades between us and Keith's house on the dry part of Florida. He used his badge for the military to get us through. This was the second time Mark and I had been fortunate to be with someone with a badge. As we drove by, we saw Humvees with boats, one right after another.
We got to Keith's and Casey's at last. We unloaded. Maureen and Anna had bathed and were in dry clothes. Casey ushered me into the shower. My brain was mush. When I got out, the others were doing laundry and trying to dry out the luggage, salvaging what was still good after being submerged again and again in foul water during the hellish boat ride. I went through my bag and saw just how little I'd brought with me. None of it was very useful. At least I had one outfit, some socks, some undies. My phone and charger were fine, having been in a waterproof bag inside the garbage bag.
The men got cleaned up. Casey fed us leftovers, whatever she could scrounge up. She had a newborn and a toddler who didn't understand what was happening. We were all emotional and exhausted, still in shock. We thought we'd been safe. Were we safe here?
The men stayed outside, watching the water, measuring its movement. The neighborhood was deciding whether to stay or leave. It was Central all over again. Casey had bags for her kids in case we needed another quick getaway. Her vehicle was packed and ready.
We had less than two hours of hopefulness that we wouldn't have to relocate again. But just as suddenly as it had been happening, the water was suddenly too high to stay much longer. Everyone gathered their belongings again. We were all wearing clothes that belonged to Keith and Casey, but we went out into the rain again. Casey took the kids in her SUV to her sister's house. Keith and Mark took the boat out to get Casey's parents and some other relatives around the corner. They were piled into another SUV and sent off to Casey's brother's. The guys got the boat into the back of Keith's truck. Mark, Anna, and the dogs and I rode in the boat to keep it anchored into the truck. Keith drove us to Casey's sister's in Walker where she'd gone.
We passed much of the same. It was everything we'd already seen today, and yesterday. People making preparations, hoping the water didn't make it to them. But the rain still hadn't stopped. It was just a matter of time for them, probably.
When we joined Casey and the kids, there were 25 people and 10 pets at Lindsey and Brad's house. 2 newborns. 5 more kids below the age of 7. All of us homeless aside from the hosts. They fed us, let us shower, prepared a place for us to sleep. Most everyone got on the phone and began making insurance claims.
But we were all on edge. We'd have to leave here, too, right? When would it be? The middle of the night? Early in the morning? What would we lose this time? Where would we go? We were running out of places to escape to. Everyone else we knew was also on the move, or we couldn't get to them. We were stuck once again, water on all sides.
By late that night, we were still safe, yet none of us felt it. We spread out in the living room, hoping for sleep, Mark and I sharing a pallet on the hardwood floor next to Keith, everyone else on random furniture. We were thankful for extra pillows so we could put them underneath us for some respite from the hard floor. But even so, sleep was little for all of us. There were so many noises, lights, and bad dreams. I dreamed of blackness, where I knew nothing but the feeling of being in a rocking boat. I was startled awake multiple times by toppling overboard, and Mark would reach out to me each time asking if I was okay. Yes, I was fine, just dreaming about being in the boat again.
Sometime around five AM Sunday, a light came on in my face. Lindsey said the water had risen in the creek behind the house. We all shot up and began readying ourselves to leave at a moment's notice. At this point, I was beginning to feel like an expert at evacuating. Everything Mark and I owned was already bundled together in the kitchen, just waiting for this to happen.
There was talk of making for one of the shelters that hadn't been evacuated. I hoped we wouldn't have to go there -- we'd already heard some horror stories. But eventually the urgency of leaving dwindled, and we all sat around the TV watching the news. For hours upon hours we watched. The men kept checking the creek, and it had gone down some. It seemed to be fluctuating.
So we were back to the waiting game. The flood was more widespread now. Baton Rouge was getting today what we'd gotten yesterday. The area was officially declared a disaster zone. FEMA was coming, the Red Cross, all kinds of other organizations. There was no internet. There was limited cell service for AT&T, so we didn't have a way of contacting people outside of where we were. Even my pinky toe was throbbing today, and when I looked down, it was swollen and purple-black. All I could do was take an aspirin to ease the pain. It was almost funny how such a small injury could hurt so much, as if all the emotion my brain couldn't quite feel yet was being contained into my stupid toe.
For days we sat there. We found out from an aerial shot of Walker near the interstate that mine and Mark's storage unit had been flooded, too. All my teaching stuff, my wedding dress, our Christmas decor, our keepsakes.... Mark reminded me it was out of our control. I allowed myself to cry once over it.
The men were restless. Some of them dared to leave, taking various trips to various houses to check on them. No good news came back until Monday when they saw the condo. The report was maximum 4 feet indoors. Mark and I were ecstatic -- we'd gone from having lost everything to having at least our possessions upstairs.
The next few days were similar -- errands that were drops in the bucket of making it. Mark and I had to go to Mississippi to get a rental car because all the ones in Louisiana were unavailable for the same reason we needed one. It was an all-day affair. Many others had to do the same -- everyone we met there was from our area. On another day, Casey, Anna, and I drove out to Hammond for some stuff for Anna, and while we were there, we saw kids swimming in a pool. It was a blissfully regular hot day for them. It made my heart hurt with jealousy.
We stayed with Lindsey and Brad for almost a week. Grandma's was dry, so Donnie and Maureen took her back as soon as possible and stayed with her there. We eventually got word that their house had water up to the roof. All their cars were done for, and we knew that meant ours was, too. There was more grieving over this.
Mark and I were able to get started on mudding out our condo before anyone else, and he even rescued the luggage from our kaput vehicle. We washed everything that was salvageable at Grandma's.
My mom and aunt came on Saturday from Texas with supplies, and they helped us while they were down. I was thrilled to have them, especially since I'd become so overwhelmed I could hardly function. Everything they saw as we drove between places horrified them.With so many people gutting at once, businesses and homes alike, the streets looked like everyone was having a really crappy yard sale at the same time.
I leave you with these words from a friend, who says exactly the heart of our community during this time:
For all my friends around the country, thank you so much for your prayers and action of providing emergency supplies[;] we are all so humbled and appreciative of your help in the immediate aftermath of this storm. Please also keep in mind this is a marathon event, not a sprint. As the days following this [devastating] flood turn into weeks and months we will continue to need your prayers and support. As cleanup turns into rebuilding, many have no idea where the money to do so will come from as many did not have flood insurance and the amount FEMA will provide falls drastically short for many of what is needed to restore [their] home. Please pray about what God would have you and your community do to help. Whether it's prayers, words of encouragement, Home Depot or [Lowe's] gift cards, building supplies or sending skilled teams to help rebuild[,] it all is needed and will be appreciated.
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