Roll Your Sleeves Up

It was in the eerie early morning hours of August 29, 2005 when I realized I should have taken my own car. I should have loaded it down with my most precious and important belongings and headed north with my parents to a safe harbor away from the impending storm. But for so many of us who had already evacuated the Coast twice in the same year, the thought of leaving for a third time was burdensome. With the anticipation of dawn lurking offshore along with the winds and waves that would usher in hell's fury, there was no other option but to wait it out.

Complete devastation - those two words are not comprehensible to anyone who is without firsthand witness to a destructive event such as Hurricane Katrina. Fifteen years later, the comparison of what life was like before and immediately after the storm still reminds survivors that in a world of sudden chaos, benevolence is a beautiful and much welcomed life raft. And it is the story of those who set themselves to the task of doing benevolence in our flood ravished coastal communities after this storm that allows us to remember with gratitude the moments, the hours, the days, the weeks, the months, and the years that followed and somehow carried us past the pain and sorrow.

When you find yourself standing dumbfounded staring into the heaps of mud and muck, debris and decay, boards and rebar that once held together homes and businesses rescue is simply to have another human being stand in the terrifying silence with you and hold your trembling hand. It is another level of rescue and humility to be on the receiving end of unassuming compassion. And those truly compassionate neighbors rescued us in ways unimaginable. They came in caravans from all over the country bearing gifts of water, food, clothes, gasoline, generators, camper homes and other supplies that were needed. "Roll your sleeves up, boys!" became a moto more than a command. It was a phrase that signaled help had arrived.

For weeks at a time, helpers lived side-by-side with us in the unbearable heat and humidity cleaning with ferocity to salvage what was left behind - mildewed furniture and clothes, dishes full of seawater that smelled like death, wet family pictures bound forever to the albums or frames in which they were preserved, high school pompoms and football jerseys, trophies commemorating someone's glory days, books full of fairytales and baby's firsts, tiny red apple Christmas ornaments with students' names painted on them. When there was nothing left to save they worked tirelessly to repair and rebuild what had been damaged or completely swept away - shoveling piles of debris, chain-sawing through fallen trees, ripping out soggy carpet, replacing 4 to 8 feet of molded drywall throughout homes that were fortunate enough to still be standing, or sweeping off the concrete slabs of those that were not. One group would leave and another would show up to take its place later that same day. They cooked meals and passed out cases of water. They organized and distributed cleaning supplies, non-perishables, clothes, diapers, bedding, and appliances. We were never without help. And our helpers were never without an abundance of praise.

Time passed and with it the need for assistance waned. Eventually, the groups discontinued their benevolent trips to our coast. Some returned as vacationers years later to enjoy a much different landscape than what had existed in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. For those of us who remained behind to continue our lives after the storm, we will never forget the hands that held our trembling hands nor the hearts that healed our broken spirits. These strangers had left the comfort of their own homes, churches, and businesses. They had traveled to our war zone neighborhoods to offer us their time, money, talents, expertise, and love. Not only did they became our heroes; they became our life-long friends. With unyielding integrity they sewed the seed of goodwill into our hearts and taught us through unselfish example that better angels do exist on earth.