good-lace's Diaryland Diary

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The Big One

The news reports can't capture the horror. The stench of rotting death can't be conveyed over the airwaves.

I am one of the lucky ones, I made it to Atlanta, Georgia. All but two members of my family have been accounted for, but we will never recapture the 9 nights of lost sleep waiting to hear that our brothers and sisters and neices and nephews, our grandparents and godparents -- have made it out. The nights of being afraid of closing my eyes because I kept having the vision of my brother floating face down in 20 feet of dirty, mucky water.

There are 25 people living in my neice's house in Georgia. Nerves are being tested to the very edge, but none have snapped. Our hosts are the most gracious people I have ever met in my life.

Georgia has been wonderful to us.

I want to go home. We all want to go home so bad, but they won't let us back in yet.

Why do we live in such a dangerous place? Why do people live where there are earthquakes, or killer snow storms, or tornadoes, or where the land is so dry they have to ration water? I can't answer those questions, but what I can tell you is that New Orleans is a city that is very rare. Most people think their cities are wonderful, or whatever adjective they choose to describe where they live, but the difference in New Orleans is that it has a soul. To us, it feels like a living, breathing place, one that we can't abandon.

I'm so heart broken.

12:33 a.m. - 2005-09-07

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