My most recent epiphany has proven to be a pretty big one for me. It has been three years since Hurricane Katrina ravished the Gulf Coast and I am only just realizing that I haven't told my story. This past week in the field, the reality of my not sharing hit me in my gut and in my heart like a ton of bricks being dropped from the Eiffel Tower. I found myself recognizing and reflecting on significant differences between "pre-Katrina Aimee" and "post-Katrina Aimee." I knew it was time to share when my senior staff simply asked me how I was doing; a routine question we ask one another in the field. This particular time, I lost the battle I had been having with my emotions all week. The ton of bricks had been dropped and the landing was a direct hit.
At that moment, I became a student. My senior helped me process from where the tears and convulsions were coming. I realized my heart is broken into many pieces and it has been hurting really badly. My senior pointed out the in-my-face obvious next step. We do this kind of thing every single day in the field. We do our best to convince our students to tell their story. It is difficult to help them find value in sharing. The process of sharing is the most difficult part because the feelings become real. The feelings usually hurt. The inability to compose ourselves through the tears and outpour of sadness and pain enough to set the words free is embarrassing and so very vulnerable. It is scary to face a group of strangers and reveal that most vulnerable piece of your heart. In order to heal others, we must first heal ourselves, right? I knew it was the best thing for me to do, so through my tears I called a sitting group. The students and staff all sat in a circle, with their attention focused only on me. I had no clue what I was going to say, how to begin, or why I was doing this. As thoroughly as the tears coated my cheeks, the words filled the air.
When I was 28 years old, I had had enough. I had been living in South Carolina my entire life. For 28 years I felt like an outsider, wondering what was wrong with me and why I didn't seem to fit in or think like any of the people around me. My spiritual, political, and environmental beliefs did not align with the majority of my peers. I knew there had to be more to life than I was experiencing and decided to go find it. I quit my job, packed my truck and started driving.
Eventually, I settled in Flagstaff, Arizona. It was there where I first found myself surrounded by like-minded people. I felt free and alive. My playground of beautiful canyons and snow-covered peaks seemed endless. In my free-time, if I wasn't being physically active I was asleep. I moved there without knowing a single soul, including my own. I was following a passion that I had yet to truly discover. In learning to rock climb and seeking new trails to mountain bike, I met individuals with similar passion. I met people who would talk for hours with me about the meaning of life and the pursuit of happiness. I found a group of people with which to meditate and explore my inner self. I was referred to a therapist who helped me identify, for the very first time, my emotions. I was full of sadness. With the awareness and understanding of that sadness, I was emotionally stable. I was physically strong; solid as a rock. I was spiritually strong; always present, aware and mindful. I was substance-free; no alcohol or tobacco at all. After a year, I even fell in love. I had it all.
I moved to New Orleans to be with Daniel. Even after always preaching to never do anything for a man, I decided if I didn't give this one a chance, I would never know. So once again, I packed up my truck. The transition from being single to sharing my life and from living in my new-found paradise to a city full of a new culture was by no means simple or easy. I had a much more clear understanding of what is important to me than ever before and I had this amazing, compassionate and understanding man on which to lean. We were a good team. He seemed completely engaged and content beginning the process of pursuing his PhD. I finally settled on a next step for me of pursuing a Master's degree in Health Promotion and a teacher certificate in Health & Physical Ed. This combination would help me fulfill my mission of "contributing to the physical, spiritual and emotional health of my community." I found a job that immediately engaged me in a community of beautiful and eager students. Daniel and I took advantage of every opportunity to explore the wilderness outside of our new city. We'd travel into the backcountry of Louisiana and Mississippi. We trained for and competed in triathalons, something of which I never would have thought I could be capable. I was healthy, happy and in love. I had it all.
My first full summer in New Orleans was intense. I worked with three other women to create, from scratch, a two-week environmental education program for 6-9 year olds and 12-14 year olds. We rocked. We put our minds together and created a kick-ass program. The younger students would get off of the bus at Fontainbleau State Park on the North Shore of Lake Pontchartrain and ask, "Are we out of town? Is this out of town?" I think they had heard adults talk about going "out of town" and thought it was a place. They were scared of dragonflies, swatting them away out of fear of getting stung. By the end of the day, we had them standing very still when they saw a dragonfly in hopes of the magical insect landing on them and offering them a dose of good fortune. We worked long, hard days with thirty or more kids, in the sweltering heat and teaching them the importance of our wetlands. We showed them water marks on trees from previous storms where the water flooded the land and explained how the soil was able to absorb all of the moisture. We helped them understand that this soil was special and protected New Orleans, across the lake, from flooding. They had experienced several tropical storms that summer and were well aware of what flooding means and how storms effect New Orleans.
I don't think I had ever been as hot as I had been that summer. My favorite thing to do after a day of canoeing with the kids was to get myself three pounds of crawfish and sit on my balcony, watching the sun set over the city. On any given evening from my balcony I could hear music in the city. Daniel would come home from class and settle into a relaxing evening at home. I always loved that once it got dark, he would stop working and settle in. He has an admirable ability to balance his needs in life. I was in love, healthy and happy. I had it all.
After our last day of summer programming (it was a Friday), I decided to meet with my colleagues and friends for dinner at one of our favorite neighborhood restaurants. I was driving to meet them, looking around at the shabby, colorful houses with families congregating on their porches and thinking to myself, "How did I end up in this city? I love this city and am so happy to be here. There is nowhere else in the world I would rather be." We had dinner and processed the success of our summer and ideas for next year. We paid no mind to the discussion on the restaurant TV of the hurricane that seemed to be shifting course from the Atlantic coast of Florida to the Gulf Coast.
On Saturday morning, I met with my colleagues and boss to discuss a plan for the upcoming school year. They were concerned about the hurricane that was officially heading for the Gulf. It was a category 1. I didn't even know the hurricane's name. My boss was planning on evacuating. He said if it was a category 1 now, it would definitely get stronger and he wasn't going to stick around. He wanted to evacuate before it became mandatory. The rest of us discussed our intentions of staying. We discussed past hurricanes and our hope that New Orleans could survive another. It was a typical, hot and humid day in the beautiful city. I returned home after our meeting and turned on the weather channel. I was beginning to get worried because so many neighbors were packing up their cars, closing their shutters or taping their windows. Around mid-afternoon, I learned that Hurricane Katrina was getting stronger and was now a category 3 storm, heading straight for New Orleans. The chance of it changing course was slim. Daniel insisted that New Orleans could handle a category 3 storm. My friends who had lived in New Orleans most of their lives were still planning on waiting out the storm. I decided I would stay as well, even though my better judgement seemed to be nagging at me to get out.
Daniel and I went to Ace Hardware to get some storm survival supplies. A little boy got my attention. He said, "Is that you miss Aimee? How you doin'? You gonna stay here for the storm?" It was the first time I had bumped into a student outside of my work. I was so excited to see his precious face. It made me feel even more a part of this community that I had fallen so deeply in love with. I got to meet his mother. He explained that they were staying. They had nowhere else to go. Daniel and I returned home, my concern about the storm strengthening was growing. We spent the evening watching simulations on the weather channel of what would happen to the city if Katrina strengthened to a Category 5. We kept in regular contact with our friends, listening to their thought processes as they decided it was time to evacuate. Daniel remained confident that New Orleans could handle a category 3 storm.
On Sunday morning, I awoke and immediately checked the weather channel. Consistent with the charm of New Orleans, it was a beautiful, sunny, humid day. Katrina had strengthened to a category 5 storm and the city's mandatory evacuation plan had been implemented. All of my friends had decided to evacuate. I told Daniel I would be leaving in one hour and I hoped he would come with me. Thankfully, he did. He remained confident and convinced me there was no need to take our camping gear or prepare for being gone for more than just a few days. We would leave his truck and drive mine to San Antonio, where we could stay with Pop and Daniel's parents.
We headed out, minimally packed. Traffic was horrendous. We travelled amidst thousands of other cars. The entire trip was stop and go with more stopping than going. Most of the other vehicles on the road were packed full of adults, kids, dogs, cats, and birds in cages. Cars were breaking down and being pushed to the sides of the road. People running down the street with gallon jugs of water to fill their radiators that were about to blow up. We were in my truck, Henry, for 11 hours before crossing the border into Texas. We detoured North hoping to get out of the traffic for easier traveling. We finally stopped at a hotel where we watched the weather channel until we fell asleep. We awoke to learn that the hurricane had hit. Mississippi and Alabama had been devastated and New Orleans, miraculously was ok. Daniel was capable of driving great distances without listening to music or the radio. We made it all the way to his Pop's house without update as to how New Orleans was fairing.
To our surprise, when we arrived at his family's house, we learned that the levees had broken and New Orleans was flooding. We stared at the TV in disbelief and concern for our new friends, our home, and the hundreds of thousands of strangers that were stranded, as we were, without a home and without knowing the condition of our belongings. We tried to call our friends and no one's phones seemed to be working. We watched the images on TV of the utter and complete devastation. Several days later, we received our first text message from our friends. We didn't realize that texting would be our only means of communicating for months. I was in shock. I could make no sense of the images I was seeing, the pain in my heart or thoughts in my head. After two weeks of waiting for someone to tell us it was ok to return to our lives, we decided we could sit and wait no longer. We bought ourselves a tent, Therma-rests and a head lamp. Daniel's parents gave us towels and blankets and we packed our measly belongings and began driving East, where we had more family with whom we could spread the burden of our homelessness. We were hoping that by the time we arrived to South Carolina, we could turn back around and return home.
We drove North before East in hopes of bypassing destruction left in Katrina's wake. The more we drove, the more downed trees and destruction we passed. We stopped at a Red Cross to collect the $600 they were offering evacuees. The long lines of families lost and devastated was discouraging. I felt guilty for receiving aid because I felt so much better off than the homeowners and families that had lived in New Orleans their entire lives. I thought of that little boy I had bumped into at the Ace Hardware and wondered if he was ok. I thought of the gratitude and love that I felt for my new community that no longer existed. Daniel and I found solace in camping along our trip. We drove during the daylight and stopped and camped at night. We were in survival mode. Usually without even speaking we would stop at a campground, start a fire and cook a meal before crawling into our new tent for a restless night of trying to sleep and trying to ignore the images of flooding and people on roofs screaming for help and floating cars and demolished homes.
We finally arrived in South Carolina, grateful for the warm concern of our families. We lived each day, waiting. After a month of waiting, we began to discuss what would be our next move. Should we return to New Orleans whenever they would be letting us back in? My work certainly would not be available until the schools were back up and running. "They" were estimating at least 6 months before that may be happening. Daniel was continuing to complete his coursework. I have no clue how he managed to remain focused on that. He began contacting other schools requesting an opportunity to transfer. Most schools were saying that he could complete that semester and if he wanted to attend full-time in the winter, he would have to apply for a transfer and only 9 of his existing 20 hours of credits would transfer. He was learning that his professors at UNO were finding jobs elsewhere and the fate of his program was undecided.
Finally, University of New Mexico responded to his request. They said they would be happy to accept him full-time with all of his existing credits. After a week of discussion, we decided to move to Albuquerque. My Master's program had been discontinued. I felt such guilt for not returning to New Orleans to help rebuild or to support this community that I had grown to love. I felt like I was abandoning something that was very important to me. I also felt that I didn't have a choice. I couldn't expose my heart to that destruction every day. I had to move on.
Our first stop in Albuquerque was the Red Cross. They gave us a voucher for free lodging at the La Quinta Inn for 10 nights. There we were, once again in a hotel with our measly belongings, wondering when New Orleans would say it is ok for us to return. We find a house to move into near the University. In mid October, we bought a flight to New Orleans, hoping to arrive, pack the remains of our belongings and get the heck out of there so we could start over...again. Our dear friends Nick and Sally retrieved us from the airport and took us to their house in Kenner. Kenner is just outside of New Orleans proper and was the first area where they let residents return. A tree had fallen on the back of their house. Damage was minimal. The stench in the air was so putrid and the destruction so disgusting, we stayed inside of their house with curtains drawn, unable to face the reality that was outside of their door. We ventured out once to assess the damage at our house and to add our name to a waiting list for a moving truck.
The streets were crowded with the insides of houses that had been gutted. Debris was stacked 10 feet high in the medians. Vehicles were flipped upside down, trees fallen on houses, debris covered the ground. The water marks on houses still standing were horrifyingly high. Every single building had a circle spray-painted on it, divided into four sections. One indicated the number of living bodies found, another the number of dead bodies found, a third the number of animals found with a slash distinguishing between alive and dead and the fourth indicating the date the house was searched. Our apartment had minimal damage. Katrina had blown most of the shingles off the roof and the ceiling had fallen through in our bathroom. Hurricane Rita had followed, bringing in water through the ceilings of all the rooms except one. Mold and mildew was forming and I couldn't be inside the building without covering my mouth and nose. Our renter's insurance estimated $3000 worth of damage to our belongings. I think Daniel and I were more concerned about all of the other families that we felt guilty even claiming the damage. We were young, single, educated, and perfectly capable of starting over. Give the money to those who need it most. We can survive.
Seven days of cooping ourselves up in our friends dark house, we received the call that a truck was available. We packed up what we could salvage, left the rest on top of the pile of debris on our curb and drove out of town. We were angry and saddened and I felt utterly hopeless. When we spoke, I think we argued out of the only way we knew how to deal with what was happening. I felt dead. I felt like there was no life in me. What in the world was happening?
We spent the first month in our new house sleeping on the floor in the den by the fire because our bedding had been ruined and we were waiting for a new futon mattress to arrive. Daniel jumped right back into school. He spent most of his time either at school or in his office in front of his computer. I spent most of my time either in bed or on the couch. When I could find the motivation, I mailed my resume to experiential education programs. We tried our best to get out and enjoy the activities that once kept us challenged, engaged and happy. I simply didn't have it in me. I would wake, move to the couch and Daniel would bring me orange juice and breakfast, and then lunch, and then dinner. I had lost the ability to nurture myself. Daniel is a survivor and rescuer and a brave, brave man. He took over and nurtured me. He tried desperately to bring me back to life as he struggled each day not to let his dream of obtaining his PhD slip away. I have no clue how he did it.
Of course, I found a job. I jumped right in and started learning new skills and new ways of challenging youth to be the best they can be. I found a strength in myself when I was contributing to others' growth. I was no longer physically strong or emotionally stable. I was a basket case. Unfortunately for Daniel, he was the one to receive the brunt of my emotional breakdowns and inability to function outside of work. We never really talked about what was happening to us, individually or as a couple. Most of the time, I either saw his back as he worked at his computer, or welcomed the plate of home-cooked food he offered me as we sat in front of the TV watching reruns of Friends and Seinfeld. I couldn't bring myself to ride my bike. We went rock climbing a few times, one of which I fell 20 ft from 80 ft in the air. We met an amazing community of peers through my friend and colleague Cassie. They supported us when we were willing to leave the safety of our stagnant home for socializing. I started seeing a healer who helped me tremendously in ways I still can't explain. I don't think I would have survived if it hadn't been for her teachings.
Two years later, with fabricated contentment, it was time to move on to the next chapter of our lives. I existed for those two years looking forward to a time when Daniel was no longer in school and we could create a life that I had been dreaming about. We would both have fulfilling jobs, a stable home and all the health, love and happiness that I had experienced in New Orleans would return and fill me to the brim once again. Daniel graduated with the highest honors a PhD candidate could receive. He had been offered a job in Bend, OR at Oregon State University, Cascades. It was a small, mountain town, about which we had been dreaming. We packed our belongings yet again, hired movers to do the dirty work and loaded ourselves into our cars to drive as far West as I had ever been, separately. We could figure or afford no other way for us to get both of our vehicles to our destination. So I drove behind him, each of us pointing out our windows trying to communicate our excitement. All the while, we were distant from one another. I realize now, how very, very distant and disconnected we had been since that fateful day in August. At the time, I was only doing my best to be happy and to be healthy. Unfortunately, I was neither healthy nor happy. My sadness and broken heart was beginning to deteriorate every essence of my being.
We eventually arrived, found a house, began jobs and began the "next chapter." To my dismay, the next chapter was horrifyingly similar to the previous. I slept in my bed, awoke and moved to the couch and Daniel would bring me my orange juice and breakfast, then lunch and then dinner. We tried to mountain bike from our beautiful home on the trails along the creek that stretched all the way through the entire Oregon Cascade Mountain Range. It only infuriated me that I was so out of shape, unhappy and incapable of facing the challenge. I preferred laying on the couch wondering why I was no longer happy. What happened? I had been so happy, healthy and in love. I had had it all.
So, all of that came out of me in the field last week. For the first time, I was able to connect what I have been experiencing for the past three years with something more than the label "Post-Traumatic Stress." I cannot believe that I had not before processed from start to finish, the impact of that natural disaster on my soul. I feel relieved to have acknowledged to myself the way that I feel about it. My heart is broken. I have neglected myself for three years trying to recreate some sense of normalcy. And in the process I neglected a relationship with a man who worked so selflessly to keep me whole. It wasn't his responsibility and true to "Daniel form" he made decisions and behaved as if it was. Because he loved me and it was the right thing to do and I honestly don't think he knows any other way of being. I still feel guilty for not returning to New Orleans. I feel guilty for giving up on my relationship with Daniel. I feel shame for giving up on myself for so long. I feel lost in how to re-build my heart. I feel ashamed for how selfish I became in my relationship. I feel hopeful for what I have learned about myself, about what I need and what I want. I feel thankful for all of the opportunities that I have found strength enough amidst all of this to take advantage of. I would not want to be anywhere else or doing anything other than what I am doing. Everything happens for a reason. I want to feel whole again. I want to be healthy and happy. I want to be able to give of myself in a way similar to what Daniel modeled for me in order to give and receive love. I think it will take time, many more tears and lots of hope.
: a usually sudden manifestation or perception of the essential nature or meaning of something (Merrium-Webster.com)
