Post-Flood Post
On Tuesday, First Avenue became a memory. Some of Second was the same. LP Field resembles a swimming pool. The scrap yard just off the interstate that most residents consider an eye sore is a jumble of jagged sculptures jutting out of the water.
Some people lost everything, others are damn lucky. I’ve heard a few stories of people talking about how a street over from theirs had to be evacuated, but their street was fine. A friend went to check on his new house, ink on the paperwork still wet enough that he hadn’t had the opportunity to move in yet. He found his new neighbors grilling hot dogs on the cul-de-sac, houses unscathed.
Another friend who lives on the Harpeth River told a story eerily reminiscent of Katrina tales. He and his wife awoke early Sunday to find that their cars were already under water, and their house was beginning to flood. They fled to their attic, where they camped out until the the water trapped them there. They had to break through their roof in order to get to the safety of a rescue boat. They lost everything.
The news stations keep showing helicopter shots of the water engulfing homes and businesses. They use words like “devastation” or “catastrophe” to describe what they’re seeing, but those words don’t cut it. They seem too distant, not personal enough. When you consider that each one of the small islands in the brown sea on your television represents at least one person or one family whose lives are being turned upside-down, it should make your heart ache with a desire to help.
My friend on the Harpeth, when he told me he lost everything, I said this: “I don’t have any idea what I can do to help you, but if you think of something, name it.” Other might feel the same way. On behalf of everybody in the area who found their world stirred up by this weekend’s weather, these people know what you can do to help:
