I’ve been MIA for quite some time not having a minute to sit and write and gather my thoughts. But tonight as I sit through what could only be called another peg on the anxiety chart; a tornado warning. I can’t help but wonder how this impacts everyone else. Since August 27th 2020 I have lived in a perpetual loop of disaster. First Laura and then Delta and quiet. Then February the ice storm. Okay that’s got to be the worst right. No, here comes May and flooding no one has seen in decades here in Lake Charles.

I want to believe this is over and some form of normalcy can begin but I live in a state of high stress, dread, and fear. We all do right now. We can only sit and say hmmm what’s next and fear the answer to that question. As I sit here and listen to the rain lightly tap on my temporary camper home I can 100 percent say I am tired. I am exhausted. The fights with insurance, the fight with getting work completed and done properly on our home. The fight with myself to keep going no matter how tired I am is daunting.

I feel guilty for complaining about my own situation because others have it much worse. I am emotionally numb because I truly can’t take on another feeling. As I sat helpless the day of the flood unable to leave my home I realized I was hysterically laughing to keep myself from crying.

I could not get to my children. As a mother that is the most helpless feeling in the world. It was my one thing I knew I could do through all of this and that was be their protection. This final piece of control I had was stripped from me by 12 plus inches of rain. A rainstorm took away the final thing I could offer my children through all of this uncertainty. That was knowing mom and dad would always be there. But we were not as I waited for the waters to recede I thank God for the helpers, for my mom who was able to get to them finally. The water did not recede here until well after midnight.

We’ve all had enough trauma in the last year just with a pandemic to break us emotionally but the layers of trauma here will take years to repair. As we rebuild our homes and town we must take a minute to rebuild ourselves physically, spiritually and emotionally.

If you are reading this I ask that you remember not just the physical town of Lake Charles but the people who live here. We are surviving. We are strong but we are also mere humans. In being human we are weak. Each weather event wears away at us. It takes a piece of our security away, it chips away from us as parents, as people, as a community. We are weary, battered and beaten. We put on a strong face for those who come here. We put on a strong face for those around us but inside I believe we are all barely holding on for dear life. We scream SWLA strong while it is more than a hashtag. The harsh reality is we are no longer as strong as we were August 28th 2020. Mother Nature has made sure of that.

We are holding on to the last lifeline we have and that is hope. Hope that this will be the last once in a lifetime event we will have to endure. Hope that we will overcome the last 9 months. Hope that next month will not bring an even more devastating hurricane season. I try to be hopeful and optimistic about the future. But even the most hopeful person is starting to lose just that, hope.

We are the forgotten ones. We are the flash headline on national news networks and newspapers. We are a flash in the pan of a voracious news cycle. Easily forgotten as another part of Louisiana. We do not hold the same value as New Orleans does to the world but to all of us who chose to remain here this is our home. We are literally overwhelmed and all we ask is for someone to throw us a rope.