FEATURE

I blessed my house, walked to the car with the dogs and never looked back — which was a very hard thing to do.

How many have perished? How many more people will die? Through their own incalculable delays in reacting, or at least in their under-preparation, how many lost the fight to stay alive? How many people will take their own lives when the insurmountable tolls of their loss, despair, pain and recovery soon bring a complete, devastating halt to their fortitude? Is this our final surrender? Have most people saved enough for the proverbial rainy day? Enough to at least survive for three months or more? I bet not many. How about you, no matter where you live? Are you ready? Some congress people and pundits of deep-rooted political city life far away from the sultry south say that it is pointless and hopeless for us to rebuild and recover; a waste of money, time, effort. Are these people really serious? Do they not think that something so horrid and unknown could not happen where they live? Are they ready and prepared? The earthquakes in California did not stop federal money from flowing to the west to rebuild, even though everyone knows those folks live on a fault. The tornadoes of the Midwest strike with unusual regularity season after season, yet we don't tell the small Kansas towns or the larger Nebraska populations to head north, never to return. And, yes, there have been hurricanes that have struck many of our coastlines and impacted interior cities in more than 20 states. Did we say forget them? Last time I checked, there were fifty stars on our flag of these "United States." In fact, when terrorists struck New York City with reckless abandon in 2001, we New Orleanians and south Louisianians were among the first to react, sending food brigades of our gumbo, red beans, jambalaya and etouffee to the Big Apple. We are that type of people. We have the spirit and zest for life. So, will someone now please come and help us? Now. Before too much time passes.

The loss of human life is staggering.

But what else is important to so many of us? You know — those other "stories" that journalists schooled in sensationalism tend to overlook.

How many animals have we lost? Our pets, the creatures in the fantastic Audubon Zoo, those left behind by thoughtless "caretakers" and the wonderful animals living in the wilds of south Louisiana and Mississippi? Countless. Innumerable. So cruel.

Finally, do we know what we've lost?

In just one small day, we've forever lost:

Fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers, grandmothers and grandfathers, cousins and more. Beloved pets and the migrating hummingbird that came to the backyard feeder. Exotic zoo creatures, large and small. Pet-store animals and those left behind in "shelters" and in veterinary hospitals. Some that were in recovery, ready to return to their homes this week to run in oak-draped backyards.

And the intangibles.

Homes and businesses.
Your current clientele. And possibly future clients.
Schools. Your school and your parents'.
The place where you had your first kiss.
The road where you first learned to drive.
The club where you heard your first rock concert.
Your favorite dress shop.
The best watering hole.
The movie theater.
The local grocery store and your wine shop.
The restaurant that served the best Crème Brulee.
Your Saturday farmer's market.
Your favorite jogging path.
Your personal barbershop, golf course and fishing hole.
Your orchestra, your opera.
The street of your coffee and pastry shop.
Our October weekends filled with crisp air.
The cling-clang of the downtown streetcar ride.
Museums.
Garden centers.
And your childrens' playgrounds.

To so many on the outside world, we have indeed seemed to have lost it all. All of it. Because of the violent side of sweet Mother Nature's Louisiana rain. I was once in love with the world and all she held in her rainy arms. Now, all I see falling from these gray-gloomy clouds are salty tears of sorrow.

Though this is a heart-wrenching, life-altering event that will haunt generations of us here in my deep, sultry south, let me tell you this: We will rise above this and hold our heads high, so very high above these waters. And we will be back. Right here with our gumbo of cultures, our jazz and delta blues and, of course, our rich history that so many across the world come to experience.

Because, you see, without a history, one simply has no future.

Matt Touchard can be contacted by phone at 985.785.8985 or via e-mail at zermattdesign@bellsouth.net. His current mailing address is 1077 Primrose Drive, Luling, LA 70070.