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