I Really Can’t Go Home Again

For the last four days between the crying and the about to crying, I have tried to find the words to explain exactly how I feel about the destruction of New Orleans. To be honest, I can’t bear another picture of my childhood home underwater, destroyed, devestated. It’s like I’ve lost a best friend and the grief overwhelms me.

Leaving New Orleans in March 2004 was one of the hardest thinks I’d ever done. It was pretty much my home from the time I was six years old with the exception of four years at the University of Alabama, and as much as my ex JB wanted to get out of that city for all of it’s crime and darkness, I loved New Orleans for it’s personality and it’s culture and it’s life. Sure it was dirty and sure there were drive through bars; sure Mardi Gras had deteriorated into one big festival of drunks, but there was also the odd feeling that despite the number of people living there, New Orleans and Metairie and Kenner and the surrounding towns and cities were actually a small Catholic town and it kind of had that feel to those of us who saw it for what it was. Not to mention the charm and the surprises, the art and the music, the food and the history.

And though as a native I may have turned my nose up at touristy things from time to time, I was never sorry if someone dragged me to a museum or an old plantation or the French Quarter.

New Orleans had become a part of me as much as my family and my friends by the time I left in 2004 and I hated leaving it behind as much as I hated leaving my friends.

But the thing about leaving people behind is that many times there are plans and dreams to visit again and I had planned and dreamt of returning to New Orleans someday, though admittedly I’ve been drifting from my old friends there.

With the destruction of New Orleans by Katrina, it’ll never be the same, even if they rebuild. It’s like one of my best friends’ have died and the grief…it’s overwhelming. It’s that kind of world-ending grief where you can’t understand how the world can go on around you with it’s day to day things as if nothing has changed. It’s that grief that leaves you lonely in a crowded room and angry at the person laughing at some trivial funny thing that was said. It’s that grief that leaves you feeling helpless and wondering if life really can go on.

And, yes, I realize that I’m among the lucky. My parents no longer live there; I no longer live there. I have not lost my home and my belongs or my life because of Katrina. I still have a place to go to work. And I do know it’s not “all about me”, but that doesn’t change how I feel or my right to feel it.

tags: Hurricane Katrina, New Orleans, tragedy, depression

2 comments

1. on September 1, 2005 at 10:27 pm

   Dave Lucas said:

   Hello, I hope you don’t mind I linked to your post and quoted from it as a buffer to what on the surface may sound like a heavy anti-New Orleans post, but it’s really not… my prayers are with all of the victime and all who have suffered losses… and with YOU!

   “New Orleans: Let It Go!”

2. on September 2, 2005 at 8:41 am

   Monkeypup said:

   I’m truly sorry. I was able to move back to my home town when I was in my late 20’s (okay, I’ll still be in my late 20’s for 7 days…), and was very happy to do so. I can’t imagine what it would be like if it was destroyed. Just losing my childhood house and the tree I used to swing in growing up was hard enough on me. Losing the whole town would completely crush me.

   My thoughts are with everyone in N.O., and they are with you.

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