Sunday night, May 22, while I was at work, a giant tornado ripped through my city and destroyed businesses and homes, leaving thousands without shelter. My co-workers and I huddled in the walk-in cooler and stood helplessly, waiting for the storm to pass and hoping that our loved ones were safe. Many tried to text their family and friends, but lack of cell phone signal prevented it. Some were crying, others were silent, but everyone listened and hoped that it was all a dream. Thankfully, I am fortunate: my apartment is still standing, my belongings are not damaged, and all the people I deeply care for are accounted for ... though a few of them are not as lucky as I was.
When the storm passed, I left work to drive home. My boyfriend was there and I knew he was worried about me. There was one other person I still hadn't heard from and I figured I should drive by her place just to make sure she was alright. I was in a part of town that was untouched by the storm when it come through, so I had no idea anything was wrong. I kept thinking, "It can't possibly be that bad." I took the long way home and slowly noticed a difference in the town I knew so well. As I drove along, things became less recognizable. At first it was just leaves all over the road and tree limbs. A few downed power lines. Nothing too terribly serious. Eventually, I noticed branches from trees that were thrust through roofs of homes and traffic was moving at a snail's pace. I kept trying to avoid the traffic, annoyed at the fact that it was taking me so long to get home and check on my friend. I got to Connecticut, oblivious to the fact that I would be driving through the worst part of the wreckage. All I could think while I drove through the utter devastation was, "I hope Steve is safe." I watched as people held hands walking down the street without shoes, crying and clinging to each other, looking at the rubble that once was their home. I tried desperately to understand what I was seeing ... I recognized nothing. I didn't even know where I was. Homes and businesses were literally leveled. I continued to drive on Connecticut from 15th to 20th. My friend and I had moved from our apartment on 20th and Connecticut about a year earlier, and it no longer stood there. I looked down 20th west of Connecticut and saw only the cars of those trying to escape the nothingness. A street once busy and full of life was now nothing except debris and stripped trees. I didn't even know where I was. People stood with their dogs, asking passers-by for a ride. I heard a man driving a van ask a woman on the side of the road, "Where are you headed? I can take you." Her face was full of despair as she realized, "I don't know. I'm sorry to trouble you. Get to safety." A man carrying his young son whose face was bloodied rushed to an ambulance on the west side of the street near a place apartments once stood. It was the most humbling and shocking experience of my life.This is just another account of the tornado, I realize. But I hope it provides a new perspective and helps readers understand the sense of hopelessness of many people living in Joplin. The tornado was almost three months ago, and I started this blog two days after it happened ... and the pictures I took and memories of that night are still humbling and shocking. I am moving to California to finish my education, but Joplin will always have my heart and so will the people living there.
