The House That Built Me
Good morning, my Lovelies! How are you? How's life? I hope things are well and that good fortune has looked favorably upon you. I woke bright and early this morning so that I could share with you before the rest of the house woke up. Once they're awake? Complete chaos and I have trouble getting my thoughts together. I apologize in advance, but this is going to be a long one.
You see, I'm in Kentucky visiting my parents and there are six of us crammed into a tiny, two-bedroom apartment. So, yes, I'm grateful to be here, grateful for a break from work and my normal day-to-day, grateful for time with my elderly parents, but...chaos, all the same.
I wasn't entirely sure how I was going to say all I wanted to say during this particular blog. I told you last week that my hometown was destroyed by a tornado. So let me share my experience with you.
The drive from my home to my parents' front door is 908 miles. As we came off the Interstate around midnight you could see some of the damage almost immediately. Portable lighting had been set so that traveling the road was made safer for those who had to be out and about, and the lights highlighted the destruction, giving it an eerie and somber feel.
Piles of debris lined the road, set so close to the edges from where the road had been cleared, that there was barely room to drive through. Trees, broken and twisted, stripped of leaves and limb, stood spaced apart like lonely sentinels watching over their fallen. The moment was an eye-opener for me. I had a hard time catching my breath and there was no stopping the tears.
This was only the beginning.
As it was late, we drove on to my parents' and settled in for the night. My parents were lucky as their home was not directly in the path of the tornado. The next day I had wanted to, had intended to go up town, to see more of the damage. Part of me didn't want to because I knew what I would find and part of me knew that I had to because I needed to know first-hand what had happened to my small community. No matter how hard I tried to get myself together and just go, I couldn't do it. Dread? Fear? Anxiety? Maybe all of it forced me to just stay inside in the safety of the bubble my parents' and their tiny home afforded.
Yesterday, though. I got up my courage and drove us through. We were unable to see everything because they've now closed down roads for fear that some of the few remaining buildings have enough structural damage that they will collapse at any moment. But believe me when I tell you that I saw more than enough.
It is so difficult for me to describe what I saw, what I felt. You see, to an outsider looking in you see photos of what our town was before, what it is after. Me? I see streets that I rode my bike all over now covered in pieces and parts of people's homes and businesses. I see electrical and utility lines snapped and broken hanging from leaning poles and lying on the road and sidewalks, and my first thought was that I couldn't ride my bike through there anymore.
You see the crumbling walls of buildings, the remains of our courthouse, stacks of broken lumber, slivers and panes of glass, and mountains of bricks. I see buildings that I played in, shopped in, worked in. I see my friend's business and I know how long and hard he fought and worked to get it started, to make it successful, and what do you see? Nothing. The building that held it was completely leveled.
I see the place I had my first kiss. You see the remains of a tree with long scraps of metal dangling in the wind. I see the streets where I marched with the band every year. You see the devastation of a community left in shambles. I see the churches that stood for faith, hope, and love, the worshipers as they arrived on Sunday mornings. You see where the steeples have caved in, the walls have fallen, and the pews sit tumbled and water damaged.
I see my friends' houses as they were while we were growing up and I feel the memories that we made come rushing back to me. They overwhelm my mind and make my heart ache with longing. I look at the remains of homes and I wonder if they will build again. I wonder if they will have not only the means to rebuild, but the desire. Because I can only imagine how difficult it must be for them to pick up the pieces of their lives and start again.
I had to drive back through my old neighborhood and see the house I grew up in. The people who live there now were lucky as I really couldn't see any damage and you can only imagine the relief I felt at knowing that though I haven't lived in that house in many, many years, that the house that built me, the house where I became the person I am, is still standing. The houses directly across the street were not so lucky.
My heart breaks for my family and friends who live here, for my friends who have moved away but still have their own friends and family who live here. My heart breaks for this community. It is my most sincere hope that they recover, rebuild, and restore this area to what it once was, and that they find the strength to carry on through the coming days.
It isn't going to be easy but I know that the people of this town will find a way. For now, I'm thankful that the house that built me, the town that built me, remains. I'm thankful for the outpouring of love and support we've felt from around the world, and I'm thankful for each of you who has reached out to me. You've helped me through this difficult time more than I can ever begin to tell you.
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