Trying to help

Last night Jamie, Lesley, Christy, Alison, Samantha, Paige, Ian, Dave, Tara and I (and babies Maisie and Cecilia) drove around Inglewood and other parts of East Nashville giving pizza, water, cokes and baby wipes to people outside cleaning up their homes after the flood.

I hadn’t seen any damaged homes in person until last night, and I’ll admit my heart kind of caught in my throat and is still there.

We drove past so many houses where you could see the water line had been up to the roof and there were just piles and piles of carpet, debris, clothes and other items sitting out on front and side lawns drying off or waiting to be picked up by garbage trucks. Y’all, I can’t even fathom seeing my house surrounded by water up to the roofline. I don’t know that I could handle that.

Chain link fences were bent like straws, car hoods were popped and personal belongings lay outside of homes as we listened to the sound of chainsaws in the distance. We drove around for a few hours, coming up suddenly on people alone or in groups, all confused at first as to why a group not belonging to any church or official organization would be out offering food and drinks to them. Many accepted gratefully; others politely refused. We’re a proud lot down here in the south.

I can’t imagine what it would feel like to have my entire house soaked to the brim, losing everything I have ever owned, and then have to come back and sort through it all, wondering what I might be forgetting about or stumbling upon sentimental items that can never in a million years be replaced, no matter what kind of insurance I had.

We saw signs on streetposts notifying us about lost pets. We met an elderly woman who lost everything and, understandably, was having trouble wrapping her head around it.

As we drove through neighborhoods that I had never been in before, my lungs became claustrophobic. The scent of rain, rust and mildew was pungent and undeniable. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that smell.