[Seventh in a series of memories of Hurricane Katrina.  Scroll down for earlier posts]

Early September 2005

“We will be all right.”  I carry that conviction with me, and the peace it brings, through the next few days.  Steve feels better and I am thankful for his participation in some heavy-duty decision-making.  First, we try to guesstimate our finances although we still cannot access our bank account information.  Homeowners and flood insurance will cover about half of our loss, and we need to pay the mortgage on an uninhabitable house.  For now, we defer a decision about the house, whether to tear down and rebuild, rehabilitate, or try to sell it.  It’s just too soon and we know too little.

Next, we discuss our jobs.  Steve’s employer, the University of New Orleans, has announced that all classes will be held online for the fall semester.  The campus sustained significant damage and faculty members are far-flung but UNO intends to honor its commitment to students.  This is very good news because it means that we will have Steve’s income.  My employer, the Supreme Court of Louisiana, has temporarily relocated to Baton Rouge.  Rumors are flying—some say that we will be paid as though we are on leave, perhaps through December, or for six months or even a year!  I am certain that this is somebody’s fantasy.  And then I hear that all court staff must report to work in Baton Rouge very soon or lose their jobs.  I don’t know what to believe.  Any decision about my job, whether to return to work, resign, or perhaps retire, must also wait.

What cannot wait is deciding where we will go, whether it be for a month, a semester, a year or more.  Ted and Dayana want to find new jobs and their own place to live.  Amanda is searching for an internship in New York City, where her best friend lives.  How does one choose when the map of the whole United States spreads open before you?   Playing “Pin the Tail on the Donkey” would be as efficient as running through all the choices before us.  Emails arrive with offers of temporary housing and job postings in faraway places.  We consider each offer, but I know that we need to find our own place and quickly regain our balance on our own legs.  We narrow our choices to two:  Indianapolis and Columbus, Ohio.  Both are large cities with good job prospects in the hospitality industry for Ted and Dayana.  Both are near our families in Indiana.  Both are familiar places to us.  A colleague and good friend of Steve’s calls to urge us to come to Columbus, and we agree it makes very good sense.  And so, Columbus, here we come!

We chatter happily about our plans to get on the road, when the phone rings and we hear devastating news from the kennel owner.  Dana has been missing for twenty-four hours. The woman speculates that our dog might have been stolen.  “Lots of dog-nappers around, looking for nice dogs like yours.”  We are stunned.

The woman asks if we have a picture of Dana that we could post around the area.  Once again I give thanks for the laptop, and quickly make a notice with a picture of our sweet-faced dog.  We print copies, beg thumbtacks and tape from MJ, and post our plea to return Dana in every visible spot we can find.  And then we wait, and hope to hear, and shed a lot of tears, and pray.

On the day before we plan to leave for Ohio we receive a phone call from a woman who says she thinks she has our dog.  She had found her wandering down a road several miles from the kennel.  The woman recognized her from our poster, coaxed Dana into her car, and drove back to write our phone number down.  We all leap into the car and drive to her house to fetch Dana, who looks thin and tired but wags her tail happily.  We have no choice but to return her to the kennel for one more night.  This time, the owner promises us, she will keep Dana inside the house, and admits that Dana, with her strong pit bull muscles, had managed to pull free from the dog run in the back yard.  We cannot bear to contemplate what it would have been like to leave Opelousas without Dana.

Before we head north MJ organizes a girls’ shopping day.  I realize that I am choosing new clothes for my new life.  For the first time since leaving New Orleans I feel revived and put together, ready to face what comes next.  MJ has been so kind and thoughtful, always promoting a sense of normalcy and optimism for us.  I am indebted to her forever.

We liberate Dana from the kennel and get on the highway north on Sunday morning, September 11, each of us remembering the pain and tragedy associated with that date.  I am nervous, wondering what we are driving toward, but also relieved as we leave behind the overwhelming sadness of Louisiana for a time.