Sweet Second-Home

All the newspapers, blogs, and facebook posts in the world could not have prepared me for last Wednesday.

Just a week prior, the worst natural disaster our state has ever seen tore through Tuscaloosa before moving on to the Birmingham area, Shoal Creek Valley, and beyond. The epic tornado- and the many others that developed across Alabama- set records and no doubt gave meteorologists the set-up of a lifetime.

Will and I watched on TV as long as the live feed held... which was long enough for me to see the massive funnel stroll right by campus, down 15th Street towards McFarland and think, "This looks like a scene from Twister." Then the feed went black and we switched gears, preparing for it to hit Birmingham and wondering if Leeds was next.

I honestly don't know how it missed us.

Shoal Creek Valley just up the road from us wasn't so lucky. And neither were so many other small towns who, even today, are just getting help with supplies and volunteers.

I spent Thursday and Friday hanging on every facebook post and tweet because of the cell phone tower damage, fighting survivor guilt for only losing half of my butterfly bush and power for a few hours, and trying to wrap my brain around the extent of the damage and what I could do to help fix it.

Will and I transported supplies donated by my mom and Tim, a college friend from GA who was kind enough to split his donations with our area before moving on to Ttown. Will has spent hours in Shoal Creek Valley, gathering pictures and stories that bigger papers weren't even aware of while I brought hay and horse feel to the ASPCI.

Drops in the bucket.

That Saturday, a friend of mine from NICU posted that she needed nurses to help staff her 3 Red Cross clinics in Cullman. So Sunday morning 7 RN friends and I loaded up. When one of my classmates asked me what we were going to be doing, I realized that I didn't know either. She was concerned about being outside of her element- understandable for 8 ICU nurses used to having any and all monitoring equipment and medications at our disposal. I laughed and said, "Now's not the time to doubt yourself!"

This is some of what we found:


Cell phone tower bent like a pipe-cleaner.


What I believe is First UMC where my friend Peter used to pastor.

We didn't do much in terms of nursing- but we were there, so the clinics were open.

A few more drops in the bucket.

I was supposed to study Monday and Tuesday... boards coming up in June and all that jazz... distracted doesn't even begin to cover it.

Wednesday, after record-setting UMCOR training, we went with a group from LCUMC to Tuscaloosa to help remove debris from homes. We got our work order from First UMC downtown and headed down 15th Street toward Alberta. Everything looked completely normal until we hit McAlister's.



Nothing.

The other people in our van must think I'm mental because I cried.


That's right. That's DCH, plain as day, from 15th Street. That's not normal.

On our way back to get our second work order, we stopped at the 15th/McFarland intersection and had the following conversation:
W: "Huh. You really can see the Coliseum from here."
S: "Where?"
W: "Look through the Chevron."



We completed our second job in Holt- where the homeowner's only request was that we do our best to save his garden, which was under 2 huge trees- drove through this:


then went to the office of one of our volunteers, right off McFarland on 13th Street and next to this:
.


That's the Milo's Will and Peter, and sometimes Amanda and I, ate at every Tuesday night. (Also the site of one shopping cart liberation... no further comment...)


Proof of insane wind speed #1: a shingle stuck like a disc in the wall.


Proof of insane wind speed #2: Cars. Stacked.


Perspective.

I cried again when we left. As hard as it was to be there, it was harder to leave.
Tuscaloosa was the second place I ever lived.
I spent 6 years there- figured out what I really wanted to do with my life, met my future husband, started so many of the best friendships I still have, had some many stories and memories in those buildings.
That town and those people were there for me during some of the hardest times of my life.
I really grew up there.
And now... Will had a great analogy- it's like visiting a family member.

But not everyone gets that. The people in our van certainly didn't (most of them are Alabama transplants). I had a message conversation last Thursday with one friend, a current UA student, in which we both expressed frustration with people who seem to not notice or be affected by the devastation. We both understand that different people handle tragedy in different ways; that the grieving process is different for everyone. Neither one of us was to the point of "going back to normal" yet- we're probably still not. But we can donate and transport supplies, give our time to volunteer and our ears to listen, and use what strength God has given us to help clear away what's left of our neighbor's homes. And we can pray- for the families who lost loved ones and pets, for the leaders of the affected areas and the volunteers helping to recover and rebuild. And we can pray for patience. Patience with ourselves, patience with others, and patience with the process.

Because it's going to be a long one. And it's going to take a lot of drops to fill the bucket to back to the brim.

We may not live there now, but we did. And so many of the people that we love still do.

And we'll do what we can, where we can, until we're back.

Because we're Alabama.



Roll Tide.