Home for Christmas

Hurricane Katrina irrevocably altered my life. For most people in this part of the world the news footage of New Orleans after Katrina was an abstraction at best, and good television at worst. For me it was abject terror, and utter sorrow. Terror because for several days I had absolutely no idea where numerous members of my family were. My brother, two sisters, aunts and uncles, as well as their families, were all missing in action. Phone lines and cell towers were blown away, so for four stress ridden days I barely slept. I worried that one, or all of them, had perished. I scoured all the news channels hoping to see one, or more, of them, while dreading the possibility that I would. Add to this, the pictures of water flooding into my city unabated and you get the sorrow. It was if my entire youth was being washed away. Twenty-eight years of my life, from birth through college and beyond, were spent walking those streets. I loved, laughed, cried and despaired on the streets that just disappeared. My most cherished memories were swept away in the blink of an eye, and the reputation of the city I love above all others was tarnished forever.

I will not dwell on who was at fault for the catastrophe. There's more than enough blame to go around, but I will say I am sick of those who weren't there, telling me what happened. On the Thursday after the levees broke I finally heard from my brother. He had escaped to his in-laws in Mississippi. The next afternoon I loaded my wife and eleven month old daughter into my truck, which I packed to the gills with bottled water, diapers and baby food, and headed for the disaster zone. Twenty-two hard hours later I reached the edge of the wreckage, where I encountered the National Guard and the Red Cross. I gave them the supplies I had loaded, surveyed my world and then, with tears in my eyes, headed for my brother's sanctuary. By this point I had accounted for all the other family members. My sisters were also in Mississippi. My aunts and uncles were in Dallas. Seeing my brother and his family was relieving, but also strange. It had been five years since last we laid eyes on each other, and I am not really sure how long since last we spoke. There was no reason for this; no animus or schism. We had just gone different ways. I spent the better part of the week in West Point, Mississippi, population 1,500, give or take. We didn't really do anything. There wasn't anything to do, not really, and it was more about being close. They had nothing but what they had managed to squeeze into their vehicles before they ran from the storm. Their bank cards didn't even work because their bank had been washed away. To prevent fraud the cards were all cancelled, and new ones couldn't be mailed out. So, I hugged him and we both cried.

Fast forward to December 26th and I was standing at gate C-26 of the Philadelphia Airport. My brother, sister-in-law and 5 year old niece ran into my arms, and, once again, we cried. They spent three days living at my house. We ate out, visited New York, (where we paid our respects at Ground Zero, ice-skated in Central park, ransacked F.A.O. Schwartz, reveled in Times Square and oohed and ahhed at the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree), and finally, saw Philly via horse and carriage. This morning I dropped them off at the airport with tears in my eyes. In the end my family lost several houses, but all the people and pets were present and accounted for. They have all rebounded. Maybe not quite to where they were before Katrina, but they are all still striving. See, that's what I thought was washed away with the flood waters, but it's still there. As my niece walked into the airport she turned, ran back to me, and hugging me said, "Will you come and see us soon Uncle Chris? We can go eat beignets at Cafe du Monde." At that moment I was home for Christmas; home where Christmas means 68 degrees and outdoor seafood boils. So, once again, with tears in my eyes I said, "You just try and stop me." Too much time has been wasted worrying about my state of affairs, and I have new memories that need to be created. So, though there is much work to be done, it is time to do as the motto of New Orleans orders and laissez les bon temps rouler. That is the only thing that will ever bring the city I love back, and the only thing that will ever let me be truly home for Christmas.