Saturday night… I’m fairly sure. A full week since I took off from New Orleans to meet Ariana in St. Martinville and wait for the rest of our little evacuee contingent. It was a day of calling around, network busy signals, and mental tracks of who went where, checking on road conditions and hoping that this would turn out a lot like last year’s Ivan — a near miss followed by a quick return.
It’s been a week of poverty and desperation, rising flood waters and sniper fire — inaction, suffering and tension, all caught on 24-hour news feeds. A week of feeling happy as our various people check in from far-flung locales and disbelief as we hear tales of pol
It’s also been a week of hope and generousity — so many people have written to us, making sure that we made it out early and offering to help in any way they could. Every email is filled with concern, love and an urgency that matches what they’re seeing on the small screens.
It’s also been a week of NOT reacting — trying to keep it focused on this one day — on the storm as it tracks through, on keeping the houseful of kids distracted, on cooking for the brood and making sure the cars are tanked up in case we bug out or return home.
All this to say: It’s also been a week of vapor lock. Of trying to face the keyboard to answer these wonderful emails and just completely shutting down. Of feeling that life has changed completely, but not knowing what the hell that means. Of perpetual motion that, hopefully, will lead to emotional metabolism somewhere down the line.
So for all of you who’ve emailed me wonderful letters of concern and been answered by a telegraphic reply — I’m here, but not particularly vocal right now. As the days pass, I might find some words, but until then, I’m taking it a little bit at a time — grateful and grieving, stunned and uncertain.
But feeling, because of you all, like the luckiest man in the world.
Love,
Pableaux