It felt like it never would. And every damn inch it added to the ground was maddening. Our cities were drowning, and some are still struggling against overflow even as the skies are quiet.
We've all found each other, and, even if briefly, gone over what we lost. My loved ones here and I have been incredibly lucky.
The surreal experience of messaging my best friend while a tornado danced with her house and near her family left me shaken.
I didn't suffer any fainting or bouts with SVT or low oxygen during the storm, and my husband's work was good about making sure he could be here in the worst of it in case I went down, and the kids needed one of us. The entirety of the disaster does make me consider moving nearer to my cousin or best friend. My neighbors have helped me on occasion, but it isn't even close to having loved ones who always know what is going on.
There are so many displaced, and hurt. People who have lost everything. And any of us could have been on that side of it. Or, worse. We lost an officer in Houston, and some rescuers can't be found. Nobody is even sure what the death count is yet, and it won't be reliable until the flood waters are gone.
I don't think anything here will ever be the same.
We're already jumpy. The next, predictively small, rain coming on us for Labor Day will scare us all and that's okay. Those of us on the Texas coast will all be watching the newest baby of a storm to see where it goes.
Food isn't plentiful yet. There are lines at grocery stores who are open, sometimes with timers for control.
I have no idea if The Lung Center survived or when they will be taking patients again.
I'd been scheduled just the 28th of August, an appointment to discuss test results, expectations, and rescue methods from attacks before surgery. Everyone is just waiting. We don't know what's left. Or what to expect.
I'm not even sure if our school will be operational yet, though it won't be until next week that any educational facilities here try to open their doors. The kids were a week, just a week, into classes when this began.
The first stories I saw on NPR were about our cities. Here is one on how you can help Houston.
The catastrophe is over, but the unfolding of what it has done has just started for many.
The obscenely lucky, like myself and my family, are searching for normal. Hot food not mass-prepped to be able to fit in an icebox, the ability to walk down the street, or buy bread and eggs.
And we'll be looking for ways to help, as the obscenely lucky must do.