"The hardest decision is staying here"

I've heard some post-storm stories that rip me up, but this morning's "StoryCorps" segment on NPR's Morning Edition really got to me:

More than two years after Katrina, moving past the tragedy is still understandably difficult for some New Orleans residents.

Stafford, Texas, became the new post-Katrina home for 60-year-old Antoinette Franklin and her 23-year-old niece, Iriel Franklin. But memories of their hometown, New Orleans, remains vivid.

I don't blame Ms. Franklin, I felt the same way about Planet Hooston. Two weeks there for me were two weeks too many.

But when she talked about keeping it together, I related totally:

"You know, I'd love to have a nervous breakdown myself, but everyone has taken their turn before me, so I won't be able to for quite a while," she says. "I'm hoping that we'll be able to go home."

There was no time for me to lose it in the first six months. Wife went immediately to Chicago for her work, and that left me with the house and the boys. My local training/consulting practice went down the drain with the Broussard water that flooded my home. Still, Justin had to get to Brother Martin in Baton Rouge, the house had to be gutted and rebuilt. No time for reflection.

Now that I'm going to be home for a few months, It's starting to hit me again, but now there's so much more anger in my emotions. Anger that politicians like Aaron Broussard think they should be re-elected in spite of their terrible job performance in the last two years. Anger with the disrespectful piece of crap who lives in the White House for abandoning my town. Anger with state and local officials whose bickering slows down the process.

And yes, anger with people like the Franklins, who are off in Houston, and whine about wanting to come home. I'll grant that this is selfish on my part to be angry with these folks, but it's there. They haven't been through the stress of re-building their homes. They're 500 miles away from here, living in a nice neighborhood and getting on with their lives. They don't drive through the still-struggling neighborhood of Lakeview and the all-but-deserted Gentilly area daily. Perhaps if they were here, working on bringing the city back, I wouldn't feel like they should just shut up.

Of course, when I settle down, I realize that this is just my depression lashing out. Most families like the Franklins can't come back. They can't because they literally lost everything, and the obstacles in their way right now are formidable. Insurance companies, bickering bureaucrats and a slow job market for professionals make things tough.

This is wound that isn't going to go away for a long, long time.

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