From Rubble to Rise

First post

Being a displaced storm victim is one of the last things I could have ever envisioned. There are always tornado warnings, and I would hear the occasional sirens, but there had never been an urban tornado striking our area in my lifetime. It was unthinkable, and yet we find ourselves living in challenging times. As if the pandemic weren’t enough, just as we were finally getting over COVID, we only had to face another catastrophic event.

We were in Nashville, TN, for my wife Carmel’s 35th class reunion. We left, not knowing it would be the last time we would have slept in the house as we knew it. Our wonderful next-door neighbor had called us to say a tornado had hit our house. We had lost some windows, and our front had been blown wide open. She said we needed to come home as quickly as possible. I called her daughter, who was also in Nashville, but staying with a college friend, to prepare to drive back with us, as we would be leaving that evening. Carmel went to the front desk and explained that we would be checking out early; however, the desk clerk had strongly advised against it. She showed Carmel the radar with us having to travel into the oncoming storm’s path. She also pointed out that we had already paid for the night, and once we arrived, we would be home in the dark with no electricity. Whatever damage we suffered could wait until the next day, because there was nothing we could do. Another neighbor went to our home and shut the door after a brief survey of our damages. 

My brother tried to get to our house, but traffic was impossible. The closer he got to our home, the greater the devastation. But even more pressing was that my father was unaccounted for. We called his friend, who said she had seen him at a gathering but had not heard from him since his departure before the storm hit. Because my father lives on the next block, my brother’s mission had changed. First to check on my father, then to see about our home. Friends had suggested calling the police to do a wellness check, but it was early, and they had their hands full. We kept dialing and hoping he would pick up. After an hour of trying, he answered his phone. He had left it in his car after getting home, and after reaching his apartment, he was in no rush to go out to his car to retrieve it. He lives on the fifth floor of his building, which lost power, so there were no working elevators. It is not for children to lecture their parents on the importance of being able to communicate in case of an emergency. We stressed to my father that we were concerned and needed him to keep a charged phone on his person. He was on the parkway when the storm passed through. He stopped when traffic stopped and remained still until the storm blew over. A few minutes earlier, and he might have been sucked up in the direct path of the storm, but God was with him. 

My brother left his car several blocks away and reached my father’s apartment on foot. He took disturbing images to share with us as he journeyed to and from the apartment building. He was unable to get to our home. The pictures he shared were devastating, but even in their detail, they were not enough to prepare us for the destruction we would witness firsthand when we arrived the following day.

My wife, Camel, got neighbors to shut our front door and send us a few images of the front of our home. This was enough to let us know we had challenging times ahead, but they would have to wait. With nothing more we could do from our hotel room, we did what we came to do. We went to the class rooftop party and shared laughs and good times with friends.