We feel your pain, East Coast

Post-election results will be realized eventually
November 6, 2012
Time for churches to get ‘political’
November 6, 2012
Post-election results will be realized eventually
November 6, 2012
Time for churches to get ‘political’
November 6, 2012

Dear East Coast,

On behalf of all of those who experienced Hurricane Katrina seven years ago or any major storm since and have come out on the other side, let me express our sincere empathy for what you are enduring.


We know what it is like to leave your home with a few items, fully expecting to return and pick up right where you left off only to discover your home destroyed, your lifetime of collections water-logged and useless and your community brought to its knees.


We understand the helpless feeling when you have nowhere to go. We know what a gut-check it is to hear others refer to you as a refugee – like overnight, your ties to America were cut.

We get the overwhelming sorrow that jolts you to your soles as you look at the ruins and wonder do I have enough insurance. Or, even worse, do I have any insurance.


And we understand your frustration with the Federal Emergency Management Agency, the Red Cross and anyone else associated with the recovery effort when they don’t respond as quickly as you had hoped.


South Louisiana understands your pain, literally. We promise, it does get better.

Will life ever be the same? Honestly, no.


The reality is you’re migrating toward your new normal. In all likelihood, the life you enjoyed Oct. 28 is a thing of the past. The “new normal” journey is a slow, arduous path. At times, you’ll feel like you’ll never arrive at your destination. I promise you, there will be days when you feel like giving up.

Mountains of FEMA bureaucracy likely await you. Guaranteed, you’ll misplace receipts, get lost in a maze of phone transfers only to be told something entirely different the next time you call and, heed my advice, beware of the plethora of corrupt service providers and criminal-types who will swarm those with FEMA, Small Business Administration or insurance money in hand.

But it won’t be all dire. Hurdles are the norm, but there are moments when those tears of despair are replaced by the kindnesses extended your way.

It’s the simple things that will give you hope. Friends who show up, hammers and shovels in hand, ready to roll up their sleeves and help you dig out from the sludge. National guardsmen who spend the morning hoisting the sofa, beds, big-screen TV, along with that room-sized rug out the door. The preacher who climbs through the window on your workday to knock out the brick façade covering the fireplace.

People are coming, I promise. Aid is on the way. We know you are hurting and we vow to lend a hand.

For now, celebrate the small victories: The day power is restored. A phone call or visit from your insurance company. A helpful return call or visit from anyone with FEMA. When the trash trucks show up to rid your street of debris. And the day a postal worker returns to your neighborhood. My neighbors and I gathered in the streets and danced at each little success. You will too, surprisingly.

But it’s going to take time, and a lot of tears.

New normal isn’t a bad place to live. It’s just different – like wearing someone else’s suit. But you adjust and move on. You’ll find yourself more nervous come hurricane season and you’ll preach the importance of preparing for the worst for years to come.

It does get better. But, until then, we’re here for you. You’re in our thoughts and prayers. I promise.