For a Rainy Day

Summers in southern Louisiana are synonymous with hot, humid days and of course a glass of sun steeped ice tea close at hand to help chill the stifling heat. It is also a time when preparations are made for hurricane season which runs from June till November with September by far being the most active. The news of a super storm developing in the gulf sparked chatter amongst the neighbors. It was late August and with the storm rapidly intensifying the National Weather Service dubbed it Katrina and we all knew the brunt of the season was right on schedule.

The city of New Orleans began bracing for what appeared to be the worst hurricane they had seen in years while those of us living on a small bayou fed lake busied ourselves storing yard furniture and other loose items. My most important possession had already been taken care of a couple days prior. As our local meteorologist had been encouraging residents to evacuate, I told my dad I would drive him to the home of an old friend who lived two hours north and that I would return as soon as I was finished securing our home. His health was failing and sparing him the stress of preparing for the impending storm would be prudent. It would also do him good to spend time with his friend as they hadn’t seen each other in years and had much to catch up as well as reminisce about their experiences together while in the service. As we slowly walked to the car he paused and turned to take a look at our house. I knew exactly what he was thinking and feeling. Would this be our last memory of the place we called home for the last twenty-two years or would it be spared by the monster brewing in the gulf? We got into the car and headed north.

So much work to do! I had already double checked all the windows and placed photo albums in plastic bags and sealed them with waterproof tape. The more of our cherished belongings I tended to, the more things seemed to need my care. I began putting everything of value on top shelves and started moving garbage bags filled with clothes into the attic. I had hoped to have left by early afternoon but was falling behind my timeline. A gust of wind drew my attention to the window and I was surprised to see the darkening skies and pitter patter of rain steaming on the driveway and street. Having lived through numerous storms, I was certain I still had enough time to finish putting Items in the attic and moving financial records from our file cabinet into my dad’s water and fireproof safe. The wind continued to increase and the skies opened. Suddenly the rain had become so vicious it sounded as if someone was throwing handfuls of sand and gravel at the windows. I knew my time was limited. I learned over the years that it wasn’t the rain or wind but a rapidly rising tide that spelled the most trouble for us lake dwellers. Finish loading the safe, a final sweep through the house and I would be off to join my dad. I grabbed my suitcase and locked the front door behind me. Shielding my face from the driving rain, I tossed my luggage into the back seat and fought with the wind to get in the car. I turned the key, watched the gas needle point to full and took a deep breath as I waited for the defroster to clear the windshield. I couldn’t believe I had let myself become so focused on protecting our belongings that I had ignored how rapidly the storm had intensified? A gust of wind shook the car and as the fog on the windshield retreated I was shocked to see the lake lapping at the back of our home. There was only one way in and out of our neighborhood and as I pulled out of the driveway I could see where the lower lying road had begun to flood. I pressed through the water and gripped the wheel tightly as I noticed how eerily deserted the neighborhood appeared. Was I the only one left? How had I become oblivious to the danger I had put myself in? As the water splashed at the floorboards I could see up ahead the lake had swallowed the road and adjacent properties. Acknowledging my terrible mistake, the only option was to turn back.

I pulled into the driveway then waded from car to house. Opening the front door sent a gush of water rolling across the already wet floor like a wave upon a beach. I tossed my bag upon kitchen table and again tried to contact my dad. No service. I couldn’t believe this was actually happening but what was more daunting was that this was just the beginning of what would be a long and inescapable nightmare.

For the next few hours I busied myself bringing non-perishable foods up to the attic and preparing for the uncertainty that lay ahead. As the water rose the lights began to flicker. The one window in the attic would offer limited lighting by day and the lanterns I had retrieved from below would provide emergency light by night. The wind was so furious that the branches from our old oak tree were lashing at the side of the house. I moved my make shift bedding of bagged clothing as far away as possible. I laid down to rest but with the howling of wind and the flapping shingles, sleep was not to be had. More eerie was the thought of the rising water below me that would surely become an aquarium for all critters and creatures forced into the lake from the bayou. It was a terrifying start to what would be an exhausting night.

I woke to the dim light of stormy skies. No electricity, no reception, no way of letting my dad or anyone know where I was. The heavy wind had subsided but in peering through the attic access to the hall below I could see the murky water merely a couple feet below the ceiling. Until the water receded which could take days there was no place to go and little to do. I began rooting around the attic searching for items of intrigue. Things I hadn’t seen in years and others never before seen. There were boxes begging to be opened. In the first box was my mom’s old wedding dress folded neatly with pieces of tissue paper layered between the folds of fabric. The white fabric with its crisp lace had become yellow and dingy over time. We had lost my mom five years earlier to breast cancer. She fought a good fight and died surrounded by her family. I was fortunate that my job allowed me to work remotely and was able to move in with my dad. It was a welcome distraction and provided mutual support and comfort for both of us.

There were many boxes in the attic that had never been open as evidenced by the brittle, peeling but otherwise intact tape. Off to the side of the lone attic window stood three stacked boxes. Neatly placed on the boxes were an assortment of neatly arranged papers and folders that until now had neither garnered my attention or interest. Walking over to them my eyes lit up when I noticed a brass paper weight in the shape of an apple that had been in the family for decades. It was once a fixture on my dad’s office desk and he would fuss at me when I would pick it up and playfully toss it in the air. I had long forgotten about it and once again holding it in my hands brought back fond memories. The apple had been sitting on a small black notebook that I had never seen before. Curious, I picked it up, blew the dust off and opened it. On the first page was a note from my dad. It read, “Sweetheart, I hope this moment finds you well. Please take care our home and all of its belongings as they hold the memories of a lifetime and served our family well for so many years. I wish I had more to leave you, God knows I would have given you the world if I could have. Please find enclosed a little something that I hope will brighten a rainy day. Love always, Dad.” As I flipped to the next page a folded piece of paper fell out. Opening it up I saw it was a Certificate of Deposit in my name from First National Bank of Louisiana in the amount of $20,000! I was surprised, baffled and confused. Why would my father leave such a valuable certificate folded in a small black notebook in such an obscure location? How long had it been there? I couldn’t wait to see my dad and ask him about it.

Several times a day I would partially lower the attic door and check the water level. It seemed like an eternity for the water to subside. When I finally was able climb down the stairs the house was in total shambles. Furniture was strewn about, windows were missing and a black swampy muck covered the floor. I couldn’t imagine how we would ever put our house back in order.

It was the Army National Guard that rescued me. Their trucks roamed the streets looking for people like me that had become stranded. They transported us to the Red Cross where we were provided a shower, clean clothes and the best box lunch I had ever eaten. It was then that I was finally able to get through to my dad. His friend answered the phone. He sounded surprised to hear my voice and asked if I was okay. I said I was and asked to speak to my dad. There was a deafening pause. The words he said left me stunned. “I am so sorry to tell you this….” He told me my dad had been calling me constantly and when he couldn’t get through he thought the worst. He thought he had lost his little girl. The stress proved too much for him and it was a heart attack that took him. I was crushed. Why did I spend so much time securing the house? Why hadn’t I left sooner?

It has been two years now since the storm. Our house had to be gutted and a complete renovation required. Most of our treasured furnishings and belongings were lost, but not all. On a new desk in my dad’s office sits a brass apple paper weight. Beneath it a small black notebook containing the loving words of my dad….and of course a little something for a rainy day.