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I am disaster weary. I have no right to be, nothing has happened to me. But Mother Nature has been a beast around the country and across the globe, so much so that I can't quite process one disaster before another occurs. Still, my heart is heavy today, heavy with the knowledge that many of my neighbors outside of New Orleans will be suffering catastrophic losses this week, suffering losses so that I might stay dry in my city. I understand it intellectually. I'm sure most do. But still, it seems so unfair.

I made the mistake this weekend of reading comments on various stories about the flooding of the Mississippi. So many who stand in judgment, deciding that those who live in disaster prone areas get exactly what's coming to them, that they'll just be another community waiting for a handout. It made me think a lot about home, the place that our heart can never quite leave, the place we feel lucky enough to inhabit.

A sense of place is so prevalent here in the South. Perhaps it's not like that everywhere, maybe I take it for granted. But I know that you can't just plant yourself anywhere in the great wide world and expect that it'll become home. Some places grab you and don't let go, places where you aren't able to tell where your body ends and the Earth begins, part of everything above and beneath you. If you had that, what wouldn't you give to keep that sacred place? I know a lot of my fellow Louisianians understand this.

My husband and I were talking about living here in New Orleans, about the possibility of losing everything and having to start over. Such conversations are commonplace for us, usually just about the time we're entering a new hurricane season. It's a reminder every year, much like the letters the Army Corps of Engineers send out to homeowners in the flood plains annually - we just want to remind you that disaster may occur, we may take away your way of life...For us, we've decided that our experiences here, our passion, outweigh the potential losses. We'll continue to take the risk.

The water gives and the water takes away. I doubt there are any that know that better than the Cajuns. They're resilient and they'll take care of each other, their families, their communities. They'll come back, they'll rebuild on the sacred ground they call home. But still, my heart is heavy on this beautiful sunny day. I am sorry for their sacrifice, so sorry, that it makes it difficult to feel relieved.

Comments

[Danisha]

I do not live in one of those places and can't even imagine being one of those people who have lost so much, but I can certainly understand the feeling of home that you are talking about. I am an easterner by transplant but would readily call NC home.

One day I will get there. If you are lucky enough to find the place that calls to your soul, no matter where it is, that is where you should be.

Loved your post!

[Judith]

I, too, have a heavy heart for those in the path of flood waters. I know they will survive and bounce back, but to think of the struggles they face is heavy in my mind and very sad. May God bless them all.

[Michele]

Beautifully stated...I have forwarded this to all my friends here in New Orleans, and to relatives elsewhere who do not understand.

[Melissa]

Your post is so poignant and beautiful in this time of worry and fear for so many people.

Ever since a move 4 years ago, I've been personally wrestling with the idea of "home" -- where is it, what is it, what makes a place feel like home ... for me personally but for others, too, especially in a 21st century society where so many families and generations are spread out. I know that where I am now does not feel like home, but I'm stuck here for the time being with a mortgage that's financially underwater. But along the Mississippi, people are faced with being *literally* underwater and losing places that are dear to them and hold so many memories.

Truer words were never spoken than those you've written here: "I know that you can't just plant yourself anywhere in the great wide world and expect that it'll become home. Some places grab you and don't let go, places where you aren't able to tell where your body ends and the Earth begins, part of everything above and beneath you. If you had that, what wouldn't you give to keep that sacred place? I know a lot of my fellow Louisianians understand this."

I envy that sense of home and place and belonging. That feeling is worth all those risks. (And every place carries risks: flood or hurricane or earthquake or tornado) And in the end, the place that one has loved, and the community that one has built and given to, will see people through, one way or another.

[Margery]

Well said Suzonne.

[Nancy Thomas]

Thank you for putting into words how I am feeling. I cannot get my head wrapped around what is happening to our beloved south. I try to ignore the comments I see on the internet because it makes me so sad for humanity.