4.27.11

            On Wednesday, April 27, I woke up around 5 am to thunderclaps and the rapid taps of hail pegging my windows.  I walked to my living room window to survey the parking lot and listen for sirens. After determining that it was nothing more than a severe thunderstorm, I crawled back in bed and let the rain lull me to sleep.  A few hours later, I woke up to a text from my cousin Rachel along the lines of, “Hey, are you okay? My mom told me about your parents…” My immediate instinct was to go into panic mode, but I tried to stay calm as I called my home phone, my dad’s cell phone, my mom’s cell phone, and then Rachel. Eventually, Mom called me back:

Mom: Well, our house was hit by a tornado.

Lindsey: What do you mean our house was hit by a tornado?

Mom: Our-house-was-hit-by-a-tornado.

            Apparently, when Mom got up for work Wednesday morning and turned on her ritual morning news. When the local weatherman said that there were tornadoes heading in the general direction of our neighborhood, she woke my dad up to head to the basement. Just like a man, Dad piddled about—a quick stop in the bathroom, a leisurely shuffle to the stairway, and then an analysis of the situation. He was at the glass doors that lead out to the downstairs deck when Mom said she heard the sound you’re always warned about: the rush of an express train, headed straight for your home. Quickly, she, Dad, and the pets, got into our “safe place” in the basement. After the “train” passed, Dad went out to assess the damage. Our decks and parts of our roof were gone. They quickly found out that this was a very familiar scene throughout our neighborhood: trees down, roofs damaged, windows busted, power and water long-gone.

            That morning, I had a hard time reconciling that my home wouldn’t look the same when I returned. That morning, I scrambled to find out news for my parents’ sake of the damage done to my hometown, as I was their only connection to media and the outside world. That morning, I had no idea what was coming my way.

            Predictions of bad weather come through my neck of the woods quite often this time of the year. A tornado siren isn’t scary so much as a nuisance—or at least that’s the way it used to be. Under threat of bad weather, I got in touch with my professors and found out that I didn’t need to come in for supervision or work, but I should be checking my emails in regard to class that evening. Satisfied that I had a few hours to spare, I settled down on the couch and flipped on the news. My local weatherman frantically warned his audience to let anyone they know in Guntersville to take cover, especially around Marshall Medical Center North, as Round 2 was on their way. Of course, I started calling my parents to tell them what was on their way: Mom had to hang up on me right away to go into a disaster response meeting, and Dad assured me that he was safely tucked away in the basement. I paced my floor and tried to warn as many of my friends in Guntersville as possible and simultaneously keep my blood pressure from peaking. Meanwhile, many of my friends were beginning to contact me. Some were checking on my family while others were warning me of the bad weather coming in my own direction.

            The familiarity of it all coupled with my growing concern for my family and hometown made me brush off the warnings, but eventually I made my way into my closet—my second story closet, by the way. Cozied in with my laptop, my cat, my pillow, and my Diet Coke, I was ready to ride yet another storm out, whatever. After the first couple of text messages from my friends asking if I was in a safe place and telling me that the tornado was coming straight for me, I started to take things a little more seriously. The power shut off, and my phone stopped sending and receiving phone calls and messages, and then it was just a waiting game.

            Looking back, it’s hard to explain. It’s hard to differentiate how much of the shaking was my building and how much of it was just me. I can say that it is the first time in my life that I have genuinely thought I was about to die. Suddenly, I wanted to tell my mom and dad how much I loved them, and I was wishing I could rewind and go to a safer place—it occurred to me how unfair it had been to my family for me to stubbornly stay put, that they would be left grieving because of my stupid decision. After a few minutes that seemed to go on forever, the storm around me quieted. It took multiple tries, but I was finally able to get a phone call through to my mom and let her know what had happened. Aside from genuinely wanting her to know I was fine, I was stalling. I wasn’t sure what was waiting for me outside of my closet door: if the rest of my apartment was still there or if I was going to emerge into Oz.

            When I did get out of my closet, I walked through my apartment and out into the parking lot. I wasn’t the only one with this idea: from every building, residents emerged wide-eyed and mouths agape. Speechless, we surveyed the damage. Siding and shingles were scattered all over the parking lot, but beyond our gate the damage was unspeakable. Less than a half-mile away, the horizon was leveled. Where apartment buildings and decades old homes once stood are now piles of broken plywood and shattered cinder blocks. It looked bad then, but I had no idea until I went out to volunteer on Friday.

            So that’s what happened to me. Truthfully, nothing really happened to me at all. I was shaken and afraid, but so many people’s fears were realized. My neighbors weren’t just emotionally shaken, but forcefully shaken right out of their homes… homes that are no longer standing. In the days since then, I have been overwhelmed with love and support. My family and friends have prayed for me and regularly checked in on me, and people that I haven’t talked to in years have offered to bring me anything I needed or help in any way they could. It’s such an enormously humbling experience… it’s hard to describe really. My prayer now is to be used in any way possible in this community—this community that for so long I wanted no part of, this community that has rallied together and inspired me so—and that even in such an enormous disaster, the Lord will be glorified.