Katrina kind of came as a shock to me. I grew up in Chalmette but, at the time, was attending college at LSU in Baton Rouge. I started watching the news and tracking the storm about 3 days before it hit. I was worried because all of my family still lived in the parish and I knew how some of them felt about evacuating. My mother and grandmother had survived Betsey and believed they could survive anything. My grandmother was one of those people that would give the shirt off her back for someone else but always held on to that stubborn streak. After battling illnesses she thought she was invincible. I was worried that if it hit St. Bernard, my mother and grandmother would not leave. On Aug. 28th, when it was made clear that it was heading straight for New Orleans, I was on the phone calling everyone in my family to make sure that they were leaving. My mother told me she wouldn't leave unless my grandmother did. All my siblings were leaving except for my little brother. He was working for the Sheriff's Dept. in New Orleans at the time and they wouldn't let them leave. My grandmother was supposed to be leaving with my uncle (her brother) since her arm had been broken in a car accident. I couldn't get through to my grandmother at the time but I had wanted to make sure she was really leaving. Thinking back, I remember my mother telling me when I asked about her, "She told me they would be right behind us." But that's not how it happend. I had invited several family members to come stay with my boyfriend and I in Baton Rouge, knowing that that was a big factor in them leaving. It wasn't until later that night that I found out my grandmother didn't leave. And no one could get in contact with her. My uncle had changed his mind! He hadn't felt like driving! He left my handicapped grandmother in her apartment by HERSELF and went home. In the back of my head I kept telling myself , "It won't be that bad. It's never that bad."
August 29th was the WORST day of my life. After glancing pieces of news footage on CNN I realized it really WAS that bad. Everything I had know was gone in the blink of an eye! I never thought I would ever experience that hopeless feeling that there was nothing left. I'm sure thousands know what i'm talking about. Besides having the town I grew up in disappear under water, but I had 5 family members missing and there was nothing I could do about it. There was no going in and looking, everything was under water. How could anyone survive that? But I still had hope. I kept texting everyone I could trying to find out anything I could. My little brother, grandmother, 2 uncles and an aunt were missing. Almost a week went by and I still hadn't heard from anyone. Then I get a vague text message from my brother's girlfriend who also worked for the Sheriff's Dept. "HELP US. THEY JUST LEFT US HERE! My heart sank. I couldn't do anything! Through text messages I found out that my brother, his girlfriend and her little girl were trapped with the prisoners in New Orleans. He said the Sheriff told them they would come back for them and the other officers but it had already been 4 days (with no food and water)(Yes, they were those officers on the bridge that were left with only their side arms and beanbag shotguns). The person I worked for had some pull and when I told him, he used his connections to try and find my brother. I don't know exactly what happened but 2 days later I had my brother, his girlfriend and her baby with me.
Almost 2 weeks after Katrina, we got news from my 2 uncles and aunt. They had been trapped in their houses with the water for 3 days before they could get out but eventually they were rescued by residents with boats who had started to go looking for people since everyone ELSE was concerned with New Orleans. But we never heard from my grandmother. After the water receded and people were allowed to go back to what was left, I headed down there with my mother to search my grandmothers apartment. She had lived in a complex with 4 townhouses. Hers was in the middle. We had to use a sledgehammer and punch holes through the walls of 2 of the apartments before we could get into hers. Once we were in there was hardly anywhere to go. All of the furniture downstairs had floated and blocked the bottom of the stairs. She had been kind of a pack rat so stuff was everywhere. We made several trips to the apartment and I got downstairs once. When I made it into the kitchen, I think i had seen some of the worst things I'll ever see. My grandma had several cats. I found most of them, dead, throughout the kitchen and hallway. My heart was racing most of the time. I felt like I was in a horror movie. I kept praying that I wouldn't see her somewhere down there because I didn't think I could live with that image in my head for the rest of my life. I was spared that at least. After salvaging what we could from upstairs, I left with my mother and never went back. On Nov. 30th, my birthday, I was informed that my grandmother's body was identified. It was found while the parish was cleaning out the apartment. All I could think about was that I had been walking on her body when we were there only she had been covered by 3 feet of junk.
Even worse still is that I believe with all my heart that if I had just been able to get in touch with her, I could have gotten her to leave with my other aunt and uncle when they left. I could have talked her into it. Even worse than that is that I never got to tell her "I love you" one last time. So yes, some people may wonder why people are still upset about Katrina, even almost 5 years later, but, if they are not from this area, they'll never understand. Sure, St. Bernard can be rebuilt, but some of the emotional memories we have are like a scar, it's a wound that's healed over time, but it's ugly truth is still there as a reminder.
IN LOVING MEMORY OF GLADYS RANDALL......I LOVE AND MISS YOU!
Thank you for listening:
Shana Kuhn Hall
Saturday, April 10, 2010
I still can't believe how much time has passed since Katrina. Almost 5 years. Five years ago I was a college student dating a soldier living with her parents in Chalmette. Five years ago I wasn't a mother. Five years ago I still had my mother. Now I'm 28 years old, A wife, and A mother and I live in Virginia. It's just so surreal to me. Everything I have lost and gained over the past five years, and all because of a storm. A storm that destroyed and awakened me as a person. Katrina didn't just take away my possessions, she took away my way of life. I miss being able to visit any one of, if not all of, my family members in one day. Now I have to get on a 4 hour flight and drive all over Louisiana just to see my relatives. Some live in Mandeville, some live in Hammond, and some even moved back to Chalmette. It just hurts so much because I long for something that will never be again. I want Chalmette back from 2005. I want it badly, but all of the trips home to visit never paint a picture of what was, just a new picture of what may be. I have my hopes for the future of Chalmette. I hope to someday move back there and be comfortable with calling Chalmette home. Until then I have the empty cement slab of my childhood home on Lloyds Ave. to remind me of what was.
By- Monique Chimento
By- Monique Chimento
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
THIS WAS MY OWN PERSONAL STORY I WROTE IN AUGUST, 2006 ABOUT MY MOTHER'S HOUSE IN CHALMETTE...
The official anniversary of Hurricane Katrina isn’t till Tuesday, the
29th. So already being kinda depressed all week watching all the
Katrina specials on tv, I got an email today from my mother that
really hit harder than anything I've been seeing on tv. The
house that I grew up for 30 years is now a cement slab. a blank
space... nothing left but a quarter of a dead magnolia tree in
the back yard that once towered over the neighborhood. Yes, the interior house was destroyed by Katrina with 8 feet of water in it for over a week. Yes, I've been back twice since then to rummage through the house to salvage the slightest memories of what little could be salvaged in the ruins. But, from the outside, it was still our house. It still looked like the house I grew up in... Now, it's gone. Katrina still delivers a crushing blow almost exactly one year after her first devastating blow that took away life as I knew it in Chalmette and the whole city of New Orleans.
My parents and I moved in that house in 1973, when I was 3. My brother, Tommy, was born in 1975, and Steve in 1980. Tommy and I shared a room with bunk beds while Steve was a baby, and then I took over Steve's room in the summer of '84. My parents divorced in '90, and I moved out in '91 to start my own life. I moved back home in 2002 for a brief 9 month stay between relationships that has brought me here to Wisconsin.
The memories are countless. The good times, along with the bad times remain in my heart. Even post Katrina, I could still walk through the walls that was my home. The two times I've been back since Katrina, sure it was a struggle to push through the rubble and upturned furniture, but it was still home. It was still the house I grew up in. I could still go in my room, see where the bathroom is, push my way through Mom and Dad's room to get to the garage, go up to the attic. Now, when I go back again, I will stand on an empty slab that was once my house. I will be standing outside where my room once was. I will be in the street and see the dead magnolia tree trunk eye level that once allowed me to climb and see the whole neighborhood. I will not drive up to a perfect house on the outside that brought so much joy to my life. The red bricks are gone. The porch is gone. The red fence that I drove my bikes through on the side is gone. That bitch, Katrina, made it official today, and took the exterior of my house away. She couldn’t settle for destroying the inside. She couldn’t stop at taking away being able to go "home" anytime I wanted just to sit in my room with the Star Wars curtains still up, or the living room with the tan curtains, or the kitchen with the flowered lamp shade over the kitchen table. She had to take away at least being able to drive down Palmetto Street 3 blocks from Judge Perez Hwy. to the curve, and see my house, 3120, as it’s always been since I was old enough to barely walk. And I can remember being so proud that I was able to throw my football over the house from the front yard and hit the mid section of the magnolia tree in the backyard. Now, the only thing that separates me from the stump
in the backyard is air.
I can bore ya'll for hours on this sentimental crap, but I'll stop now. Those of you from the south know exactly how I feel. Those of you from the north who have never gone through something like this, I'm sorry for boring you with my sob story. I needed someone to vent to, and you happened to stumble across this.
3120 Palmetto Street, Chalmette, Louisiana, 70043, 504-277-1548. ..Katrina can take the house away, take the phone lines away, take away the building that was "home" away. But she can not and will not take the spirit and memories away from my heart. She can not take away the love I had for that house, and the love I had for family and friends that passed through that house all the years I spent there.
Katrina can burn in hell for all I care. The memories and people that lived my life at the house will always be with me forever. Nothing, and no one, can tear down the walls of memories I shared in that house that will always be with
me. Bricks or no bricks.
-Written by Joey Garic
29th. So already being kinda depressed all week watching all the
Katrina specials on tv, I got an email today from my mother that
really hit harder than anything I've been seeing on tv. The
house that I grew up for 30 years is now a cement slab. a blank
space... nothing left but a quarter of a dead magnolia tree in
the back yard that once towered over the neighborhood. Yes, the interior house was destroyed by Katrina with 8 feet of water in it for over a week. Yes, I've been back twice since then to rummage through the house to salvage the slightest memories of what little could be salvaged in the ruins. But, from the outside, it was still our house. It still looked like the house I grew up in... Now, it's gone. Katrina still delivers a crushing blow almost exactly one year after her first devastating blow that took away life as I knew it in Chalmette and the whole city of New Orleans.
My parents and I moved in that house in 1973, when I was 3. My brother, Tommy, was born in 1975, and Steve in 1980. Tommy and I shared a room with bunk beds while Steve was a baby, and then I took over Steve's room in the summer of '84. My parents divorced in '90, and I moved out in '91 to start my own life. I moved back home in 2002 for a brief 9 month stay between relationships that has brought me here to Wisconsin.
The memories are countless. The good times, along with the bad times remain in my heart. Even post Katrina, I could still walk through the walls that was my home. The two times I've been back since Katrina, sure it was a struggle to push through the rubble and upturned furniture, but it was still home. It was still the house I grew up in. I could still go in my room, see where the bathroom is, push my way through Mom and Dad's room to get to the garage, go up to the attic. Now, when I go back again, I will stand on an empty slab that was once my house. I will be standing outside where my room once was. I will be in the street and see the dead magnolia tree trunk eye level that once allowed me to climb and see the whole neighborhood. I will not drive up to a perfect house on the outside that brought so much joy to my life. The red bricks are gone. The porch is gone. The red fence that I drove my bikes through on the side is gone. That bitch, Katrina, made it official today, and took the exterior of my house away. She couldn’t settle for destroying the inside. She couldn’t stop at taking away being able to go "home" anytime I wanted just to sit in my room with the Star Wars curtains still up, or the living room with the tan curtains, or the kitchen with the flowered lamp shade over the kitchen table. She had to take away at least being able to drive down Palmetto Street 3 blocks from Judge Perez Hwy. to the curve, and see my house, 3120, as it’s always been since I was old enough to barely walk. And I can remember being so proud that I was able to throw my football over the house from the front yard and hit the mid section of the magnolia tree in the backyard. Now, the only thing that separates me from the stump
in the backyard is air.
I can bore ya'll for hours on this sentimental crap, but I'll stop now. Those of you from the south know exactly how I feel. Those of you from the north who have never gone through something like this, I'm sorry for boring you with my sob story. I needed someone to vent to, and you happened to stumble across this.
3120 Palmetto Street, Chalmette, Louisiana, 70043, 504-277-1548. ..Katrina can take the house away, take the phone lines away, take away the building that was "home" away. But she can not and will not take the spirit and memories away from my heart. She can not take away the love I had for that house, and the love I had for family and friends that passed through that house all the years I spent there.
Katrina can burn in hell for all I care. The memories and people that lived my life at the house will always be with me forever. Nothing, and no one, can tear down the walls of memories I shared in that house that will always be with
me. Bricks or no bricks.
-Written by Joey Garic
Monday, April 5, 2010
SAT ON A ROOF FOR 6 DAYS AND NOONE FROM THE PARISH OR ANYWHERE COME TO RESCUE US ON THE 6TH DAY FINALLY 1 COP CAME AND TOLD US WE HAD TO GET OUT HAD TO WALK IN WATER TO HIGH GROUND GET ON THE FERRY GOT SOAKED FROM RAIN THEN THEY LEFT US ON THE WESTBANK SIDE WAITING FOR BUSES FOR HOURS THEY CAME AND THREW WATER FOR US TO DRINK FINALLY BUSES CAME ROAD FOR HOURS TILL FINALLY GOTTEN TO WHERE THEY TOOK US SOO CROUDED COULD'NT SLEEP SON IN LAW CAME AND GOT US AND MEDICAL PROBLEMS SINCE CANCER HIGH BLOOD PRESSURE DEPRESSION ON ALL KINDS OF MEDS CANCER PILLS AND STILL THIS DAY HAVING TROUBLE SLEEPING SEEING EVERYTHING HAPPENING ALL OVER AGAIN STILL HAVE DREAMS OF KATRINA.
By- Sandra Hingle
sandrahingle@yahoo.com
By- Sandra Hingle
sandrahingle@yahoo.com
My life since Katrina
I've shared my Katrina story many times; it never seems to get old. And every time I tell it, those feelings flood back, no pun intended. It is as if the wound reopens a little, letting out some of the sadness and pain that came from this storm and her destruction. Never in a million years did I think I would go through something like Katrina. My parents and grandparents would share hurricane stories with me when I was a child, but I never thought it would happen to me.
The Friday before the storm, I remember sitting in my room, watching the news on t.v., thinking that this could be bad. But we've dealt with hurricane warnings before, even evacuated a couple of times, too. In the end, we always came home after a couple of days in a hotel and all was fine; no water, no rain, no mess. We would even joke about it, saying how silly it was to run because nothing EVER happened. That was all about to change.
Around 5am on Sunday morning, August 28th, my mother walked into my bedroom and woke me up. I distinctly remember her saying, "Sheley. You need to wake up. The storm is heading our way." The storm? What? Did I hear her right? We sat down in the living room and made our evacuation plan. My parents were going to Atlanta to be near my stepfather's kids, and I chose to go with my Grandmother to Bossier City. My husband (who was my boyfriend at the time) was coming home (Houma) for two week leave; he was deploying to Iraq later that year. I was concerned I would get stuck in Georgia and would have no way to see him. So off we went, leaving St. Bernard around 7am to drive north towards Mandeville, then west to Shreveport. We arrived in our hotel in decent time - we were lucky to get out dodge early enough and avoided a lot of the traffic. A girlfriend of mine told me they sat on I-10 somewhere between Metarie and Baton Rouge for 24 hours. That drive normally takes what, 2 hours?!
Anyway, we settled in our room and turned on the news, just to make sure the storm was still heading towards New Orleans. It was. No change in direction; she was coming straight to us. At this point, I think I still thought it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe the streets will flood or maybe we'll get a little water in the house. But we were a few feet off of the ground so I was sure that would help. Besides, even if water got in the house, I put my important belongings (photos, papers, etc) on top of my dresser. I was sure they would be safe there.
The next morning, August 29th, we woke up early and turned on the news, again. I could see the reporters on t.v. were being pelted by rain and almost blown over by the wind. One guy could barely stand up because the wind was so strong. Still, I had hope. It couldn't be THAT bad. They didn't report much on St. Bernard. Most of the focus was on the city and things seemed to be ok there. Then s**t hit the fan - the levees started to break. Lakeview, the 9th ward; they were flooding.
We started getting texts (phones weren't working well during the storm) from family and friends, everyone making sure the other person was safe. We would report what little information we had to each other. But what we really wanted to know was, "Is St. Bernard ok?" - we didn't know. The next step was to make our way to the library, to find internet access, or to reach out to our family in other parts of the country to see if they knew anything. We would get pieces of information here and there, but nothing that really gave me the answers I sought.
On Tuesday morning, after the storm hit, we were beginning to realize that this one was different. We weren't going back home any time soon. My aunt called FEMA, the rest of us followed. I made my way to the unemployment and food stamp offices so we could get some assistance. Slowly, church groups and other organizations made their way to our hotel and told us that they were gathering donations and would be preparing meals to help us out. It was amazing. People from everyone started coming out, offering whatever they could afford. Even stores like Old Navy gave us discounts. All of the help that was given to us meant so much, I don't think they realized how truly grateful we were for it. People were very generous.
We ended up staying in the hotel for a few weeks, then slowly began our trip towards home. My uncle had a house in Baton Rouge that his company was renting; we purchased a couple of RV trailers and parked them in the backyard. Once my parents returned to Louisiana, they came to stay with us. That's when we heard that they would temporarily open the Parish to let us go home, salvage what we could, and leave again.
I remember that day vividly. My mom, stepfather, brother, and I packed up the van and heading out from BR. We left early, before the sun was even up, so we could get there as soon as possible. Once we arrived in Slidell on the HWY 11 bridge, the National Guard made us stop to wait. There were cars lined up for several miles. People were sitting outside of their vehicles, talking with their neighbor, waiting to be let in. Finally, probably some time around 7 or 8 am, they let us go through. We made our way down the highway, into New Orleans East and onto the Chalmette Exit. Driving down the Green bridge, we started to see the after affects of the storm. The roads were thick with mud. Streets were blocked off.
We drove down Paris Rd and turned onto St. Bernard Hwy, making our ways towards Arabi. Before we got to our house, we stopped to get our Tet shots - wanted to be safe in case we got cut. Then we got back into the van and drove down the street, turning onto Center St. We were just a couple of blocks from our house. My mom started to cry, and eventually I began to cry, too. I didn't understand why I was crying - I still had hope everything would be ok. But I knew it was bad; I could see it in her eyes. She had seen this before.
We pulled up in front of the house and saw the X spray painted on the house. They came by to check on it to make sure no one was hurt or dead inside. My brother tried to open the front door but it wouldn't budge. Our neighbors across the street let us borrow their ax so he could break it down. Once he made an opening, we were able to push our way through. The front room was full of crap that floated in there, the ceiling tiles and fans were destroyed and all over the floor, and the wall was covered with mold and muck. Everything was wet, and stinky, and gross. It had this rancid smell of egg and mildew. I won't ever forget that smell.
I made my way down the hallway and into my bedroom. There I saw all of my belongings were destroyed - no photo albums, no t.v., no clothes, nothing left untouched. The water ended up going past the rooftop so there was nothing left to save. I got a couple of things - my class ring, a few glass items and such out, but that was it.
As we headed back to Baton Rouge, I cried. My head began to hurt. I had the worst headache that night. Between the crying and breathing in the mold, my head was throbbing. It was then, on that drive home, that I realized nothing would ever be the same. Our home was gone, my memories were taken from me, my friends and family displaced all over the state and country. It was the worst feeling I ever experienced. I felt like Katrina came in and took away everything I loved. Everything but my family and friends. We were lucky in that respect. No one close to us stayed behind and everyone was alive. I am grateful for that.
We were dislocated for a while. My stepfather moved us to Houston for about 6 months so he could work and we would have a place to live. They made their way back to the Parish around May 2006 so they could start to rebuild. I lived with my Grandmother, first in an apt in Metairie, then in a FEMA trailer. I only lived there about a year - I got married and moved away to live with my husband. But my family stayed in St. Bernard, living in those damn FEMA trailers until May 2007. They got new homes and finally settled down.
It took my family 2 years to get their lives back, and they still weren't normal. The Parish was completely destroyed - 100% of the residents lost their homes. Businesses closed. There were very few ammenities; a gas station or two, a small grocery store, a temporary clinic in the parking lot of Walmart. It was sad.
The good news is that the Parish seems to get better every day. It's now 2010 and things are looking up for St. Bernard. More people moved back, more businesses opened. Walmart even reopened a couple of months ago. The people of St. Bernard are able to come back and have a small piece of home again. Our Parish is an inspiration. Our stories give us hope. We can overcome a lot, more then we know. I did not think I was strong enough to handle something like this, but somehow, I was. We all were.
I love St. Bernard and look forward to going home as much as I can. I'll be heading back this summer for a month. I cannot wait!
Written by Sheley Harp
The Friday before the storm, I remember sitting in my room, watching the news on t.v., thinking that this could be bad. But we've dealt with hurricane warnings before, even evacuated a couple of times, too. In the end, we always came home after a couple of days in a hotel and all was fine; no water, no rain, no mess. We would even joke about it, saying how silly it was to run because nothing EVER happened. That was all about to change.
Around 5am on Sunday morning, August 28th, my mother walked into my bedroom and woke me up. I distinctly remember her saying, "Sheley. You need to wake up. The storm is heading our way." The storm? What? Did I hear her right? We sat down in the living room and made our evacuation plan. My parents were going to Atlanta to be near my stepfather's kids, and I chose to go with my Grandmother to Bossier City. My husband (who was my boyfriend at the time) was coming home (Houma) for two week leave; he was deploying to Iraq later that year. I was concerned I would get stuck in Georgia and would have no way to see him. So off we went, leaving St. Bernard around 7am to drive north towards Mandeville, then west to Shreveport. We arrived in our hotel in decent time - we were lucky to get out dodge early enough and avoided a lot of the traffic. A girlfriend of mine told me they sat on I-10 somewhere between Metarie and Baton Rouge for 24 hours. That drive normally takes what, 2 hours?!
Anyway, we settled in our room and turned on the news, just to make sure the storm was still heading towards New Orleans. It was. No change in direction; she was coming straight to us. At this point, I think I still thought it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe the streets will flood or maybe we'll get a little water in the house. But we were a few feet off of the ground so I was sure that would help. Besides, even if water got in the house, I put my important belongings (photos, papers, etc) on top of my dresser. I was sure they would be safe there.
The next morning, August 29th, we woke up early and turned on the news, again. I could see the reporters on t.v. were being pelted by rain and almost blown over by the wind. One guy could barely stand up because the wind was so strong. Still, I had hope. It couldn't be THAT bad. They didn't report much on St. Bernard. Most of the focus was on the city and things seemed to be ok there. Then s**t hit the fan - the levees started to break. Lakeview, the 9th ward; they were flooding.
We started getting texts (phones weren't working well during the storm) from family and friends, everyone making sure the other person was safe. We would report what little information we had to each other. But what we really wanted to know was, "Is St. Bernard ok?" - we didn't know. The next step was to make our way to the library, to find internet access, or to reach out to our family in other parts of the country to see if they knew anything. We would get pieces of information here and there, but nothing that really gave me the answers I sought.
On Tuesday morning, after the storm hit, we were beginning to realize that this one was different. We weren't going back home any time soon. My aunt called FEMA, the rest of us followed. I made my way to the unemployment and food stamp offices so we could get some assistance. Slowly, church groups and other organizations made their way to our hotel and told us that they were gathering donations and would be preparing meals to help us out. It was amazing. People from everyone started coming out, offering whatever they could afford. Even stores like Old Navy gave us discounts. All of the help that was given to us meant so much, I don't think they realized how truly grateful we were for it. People were very generous.
We ended up staying in the hotel for a few weeks, then slowly began our trip towards home. My uncle had a house in Baton Rouge that his company was renting; we purchased a couple of RV trailers and parked them in the backyard. Once my parents returned to Louisiana, they came to stay with us. That's when we heard that they would temporarily open the Parish to let us go home, salvage what we could, and leave again.
I remember that day vividly. My mom, stepfather, brother, and I packed up the van and heading out from BR. We left early, before the sun was even up, so we could get there as soon as possible. Once we arrived in Slidell on the HWY 11 bridge, the National Guard made us stop to wait. There were cars lined up for several miles. People were sitting outside of their vehicles, talking with their neighbor, waiting to be let in. Finally, probably some time around 7 or 8 am, they let us go through. We made our way down the highway, into New Orleans East and onto the Chalmette Exit. Driving down the Green bridge, we started to see the after affects of the storm. The roads were thick with mud. Streets were blocked off.
We drove down Paris Rd and turned onto St. Bernard Hwy, making our ways towards Arabi. Before we got to our house, we stopped to get our Tet shots - wanted to be safe in case we got cut. Then we got back into the van and drove down the street, turning onto Center St. We were just a couple of blocks from our house. My mom started to cry, and eventually I began to cry, too. I didn't understand why I was crying - I still had hope everything would be ok. But I knew it was bad; I could see it in her eyes. She had seen this before.
We pulled up in front of the house and saw the X spray painted on the house. They came by to check on it to make sure no one was hurt or dead inside. My brother tried to open the front door but it wouldn't budge. Our neighbors across the street let us borrow their ax so he could break it down. Once he made an opening, we were able to push our way through. The front room was full of crap that floated in there, the ceiling tiles and fans were destroyed and all over the floor, and the wall was covered with mold and muck. Everything was wet, and stinky, and gross. It had this rancid smell of egg and mildew. I won't ever forget that smell.
I made my way down the hallway and into my bedroom. There I saw all of my belongings were destroyed - no photo albums, no t.v., no clothes, nothing left untouched. The water ended up going past the rooftop so there was nothing left to save. I got a couple of things - my class ring, a few glass items and such out, but that was it.
As we headed back to Baton Rouge, I cried. My head began to hurt. I had the worst headache that night. Between the crying and breathing in the mold, my head was throbbing. It was then, on that drive home, that I realized nothing would ever be the same. Our home was gone, my memories were taken from me, my friends and family displaced all over the state and country. It was the worst feeling I ever experienced. I felt like Katrina came in and took away everything I loved. Everything but my family and friends. We were lucky in that respect. No one close to us stayed behind and everyone was alive. I am grateful for that.
We were dislocated for a while. My stepfather moved us to Houston for about 6 months so he could work and we would have a place to live. They made their way back to the Parish around May 2006 so they could start to rebuild. I lived with my Grandmother, first in an apt in Metairie, then in a FEMA trailer. I only lived there about a year - I got married and moved away to live with my husband. But my family stayed in St. Bernard, living in those damn FEMA trailers until May 2007. They got new homes and finally settled down.
It took my family 2 years to get their lives back, and they still weren't normal. The Parish was completely destroyed - 100% of the residents lost their homes. Businesses closed. There were very few ammenities; a gas station or two, a small grocery store, a temporary clinic in the parking lot of Walmart. It was sad.
The good news is that the Parish seems to get better every day. It's now 2010 and things are looking up for St. Bernard. More people moved back, more businesses opened. Walmart even reopened a couple of months ago. The people of St. Bernard are able to come back and have a small piece of home again. Our Parish is an inspiration. Our stories give us hope. We can overcome a lot, more then we know. I did not think I was strong enough to handle something like this, but somehow, I was. We all were.
I love St. Bernard and look forward to going home as much as I can. I'll be heading back this summer for a month. I cannot wait!
Written by Sheley Harp
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