Six years ago on August 29th I sat in the same room I wrote this, listening to the wind howl outside. The wind here was strong. Across Mobile windows broke. Limbs fell. Trees uprooted. Homes flooded.
Less than fifty miles west the unceasing tide rose, pushing inland without remorse. Nature has no remorse. It has no emotion. There were no “I’m sorrys” when Hurricane Katrina washed the world away on August 29th, 2005.
Entire blocks of the Mississippi Gulf Coast slipped into the unrelenting sea. Gone. Forever residing at the bottom of the Mississippi Sound for some future archaeologist to discover.
The levees broke. With them, my heart.
Searching for purpose in the wake of disaster – searching for myself – I volunteered to return immediately to help. I didn’t go. When the campus reopened nine months after the flood, I returned. June 1, 2006.
I made it two years – two years that changed the very core of who I am.
Six years ago today my life was uprooted. As were thousands of others, I became an American refugee. Six years ago I grew up. And in the two years after I returned, I learned what it meant to be a man.
Pain. Compassion. Hard work.
When I quit my job making coffee last year, I went to the Red Cross. I joined because I didn’t want people to suffer the way they had during Katrina. I wanted to help.
And I did. I’ve responded to fires and tornadoes. In the aftermath of the North and Central Alabama tornadoes, our chapter sent volunteers and staff to help. I did everything I could within the guidelines of the AmeriCorps VISTA program. And when a position opened up at the chapter in July, I applied.
Six years. Six years ago I would not have seen myself here. Not in this town. Not doing this.
But here I am. Today – six years to the day after my world was completely rocked – today is my first day as the District Volunteer Development Specialist with the American Red Cross.
I’m sure I’ve been making a difference for a while now, whether it was in Louisiana or Texas or Alabama. Whether it was as a popcorn boy at Target or as a coffee boy at the local bookstore or over the last year as a volunteer and VISTA.
It took a while. It felt like eternity. I’m pretty sure I sacrificed a few of my geriatric years getting here.
Pain. Compassion. Hard work.
It was worth it.
It just doesn’t get much easier than this- two wonderful people, two great places (and one not so great place)… good times with two of my small group friends.
In 2007 I took a road trip west to Calgary, and on my way home I spent a couple nights in Montana. My second day had me driving west through Glacier National Park, then south through Butte to the town of Belgrade for night. Somewhere north of Butte, I took a quick detour to get the shot you see above, which would eventually be titled, “and then I went up on that mountain over yonder.” Imagine me pointing *that way* as you read this. Three hours later, I was on my way southbound on I-90 toward my night’s destination.
by Joe Kennedy
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