“Happy Birthday!” Everyone knows that these words are meant to be said out of happiness and celebration. But when they are expressed on a day of total destruction, devastation, and depression, are they really that effective? A birthday, a day of joy targeted at the passing of age, is usually a whole day filled with presents, smiles, and cake. Lots and lots of cake! Well, that’s at least what my family thought birthdays were supposed to be like. That was, until the day came. The day that was life changing and will be forever marked in the history books of our nation for generations to come. The day that caused souls to be ripped apart from their families and thrown out into a jungle of madness. The day that my city lost, what seemed at the time, everything.
I woke up that Sunday morning to a bright, dazzling sun. As I went through my daily morning routine, I checked my iPod to discover the weather conditions for this particular Sunday. What it seemed like to me was that Joplin would be experiencing rain showers and maybe a few strokes of lightning. This was not unusual for this time of the year, which was late spring, in our Southern Missouri region. So, my family and I attended our regular eleven fifteen mass at St. Peter’s Apostle Church. By that time, the sky had developed a gray-like color and was covered with poufy, dark clouds scattered into bunches, compiling up into the air. What was ironic was that during church that day, my parish prayed for the unfortunate people in the paths of the latest natural disasters, without a single clue about what was heading our way…
My cousin had her birthday party held at about noon that same day, so, as you can imagine, we rushed out of our church right after mass finished. Actually, she was having two birthday parties- one with her friends and one with her family, and I was invited to both! Her birthday party with her other five-year-old friends was at the Macaroo Gym, the most wonderful place a five-year-old could dream of. Who wouldn’t want to spend three hours jumping on blown up, bouncy devices? I think I was there to help the little kids have fun, but considering the fact that I wasn’t allowed in quite a few bouncy houses; I don’t know if I was any help. Anyway, when her first party was over, around two to three o’clock, the sky was at a dark, cloudy phase. But at that time, no one was really worried. It was just another heavy rainstorm, wasn’t it?
After that party, she had another party that started around four to five thirty. You would think that a little five-year-old would be partied out, but apparently, she wasn’t. So, at that time, the sky was still pretty dark. And when I say “dark,” I mean a deep gray. But halfway through the party, right after we finished dinner, it really started pouring outside. We didn’t think much of it.
But as the weather started to get worse, we decided to click on the Weather Channel and take a look at the news reports. We weren’t really scared, yet; we just wanted to make sure. Hey, it’s better to be safe than sorry. There was only one problem. In the path of my aunt and the remote control was a very difficult obstacle. My dad. These things happened to us all the time (the storm, I meant), and my dad wasn’t going to easily let go of the remote and the heated show of Cops that was on the television screen. In his mind, in everyone’s mind, this was just the same crazy Missouri weather that always circled our region. In fact, my aunt had to practically wrestle the remote from my dad! It was not an easy battle. But in the end, everyone was laughing…until the news flashed on. At that point, there was no more laughing and merry faces, just serious expressions and gasps from the silent, but alert audience.
We had a lot of people at the birthday party, not only family, but also close friends, so we decided to take precautions. All the kids were shoveled into the center of the house, which was the living room, away from the windows. I’m pretty sure the panic mode kicked in when the first tornado siren went off and a power outage engulfed the entire neighborhood. That was when the crying started. The crying, whimpering, and outbursts of sudden prayers. Right then, my uncle, who works at the Granby Fire Department as fire chief, left the party to alert his town about the forming twister. When I heard he was leaving, I almost started crying. Everything was going wrong. It was a horrible nightmare.
By the time the second siren went off, total chaos was already loose among our party and its attendants, especially the children. We had kids that ranged from the age of sixteen months to twelve years old. We totaled to a headcount of about ten remaining kids and eleven adults. When I used the term, “remaining,” I meant that stayed at the party. The hosts of the party, my aunt and uncle, tried to calm everyone down enough to escort them to their underground crawlspace. Actually, they didn’t really escort; they rushed. By the time most of the population of the party was safe underground, the sirens were blaring in our eardrums. All I could do was sit there and stare. Stare into sudden space. Stare into the midst of the dusty underground lantern. Stare, while clasping my hands together in a firm grip and muttering silent prayers.
We stayed down there in the musty underground shelter for what seemed like hours. My dad, along with the other “brave,” but ignorant men of the family, stayed outside to watch the skies. But soon enough, a low rumble grew louder and louder until it produced the sound that could very well be compared to the coming of a train. The sky held a vision of death itself. By then, my dad, as well as the others, gained their senses and bolted toward the shelter. They quickly jumped/sprang into the safety of the haven with sighs of clear relief.
Terror filled the eyes of many as the raging storm continued on. Silent prayers and pleas for help were whispered through a heavy flow of tears. Mother clutched son; son clutched father; father clutched wife. Parents soothed their young children in the panic of the night. All sat there, awaiting possible death. Then, a sudden silence filled the walls of the heavily guarded shelter, and all was still. Those moments were filled with astonishment, with joy. We had survived. We survived the storm that surely caused damage in our beloved town.
We came out of the shelter to a neighborhood trashed entirely with debris. Everywhere, and I mean everywhere, there were pieces of paper, parts of furniture, and even precious family heirlooms. We knew that the area we were in was pretty lucky; we didn’t get hit that badly. The worst of the disastrous tornado was yet to be discovered. The way it seemed, at the time, over the radio, was that our town had encountered some serious damage, deadly damage. The only transportation of information was over the treasured MP3 Player my little sister had brought along with her to the party. We listened intently to the faithful radio speakers as they delivered updates, news, and messages from distraught loved ones. Our eyes swelled with tears as we discovered that many of our friends were hit. Did they survive? We didn’t know. At the time, the cell phone signals were weak, and everybody was having the same idea, to call their friends, families, and neighbors. Actually, everybody they knew! Enemies called enemies, friends called foes, kids called kids they hardly knew. There was a concern for everybody and everyone around. Some calls were sent through, but most were, sadly, unsuccessful.
As the search for lost ones continued on, the traffic in town became heavier and heavier. Due to the fallen power lines, trees, and buildings, many streets were closed. You just couldn’t get through them! Destruction was everywhere! And to make matters worse, the direct routes everyone took to get through town were blocked by police officers because of certain disastrous matters.
So when people finally got through to see the aftermath in our suburban town, they were shocked, astonished even. I was shocked. Restaurants, grocery stores, banks, clothing stores, they were all gone! Well, some of them were not completely gone, but they were pretty close. Buildings were shredded to pieces, with foundation and cushioning flung everywhere. You couldn’t even recognize where you were or what street you were on. Tidbits of debris gave away hints and clues about what buildings might have been where, but other than that, citizens walking up and down the destructed path were completely clueless. What hit me the most, though, was that St. John’s Regional Medical Hospital was a direct hit during the lasting minutes of the deadly tornado. This was the same hospital my sister, my cousin, and I were all born at. To drive by the once tall standing building was absolutely heartbreaking. I felt my insides shatter as I saw the charred edges of the once smooth, glistening skyscraper. I felt a pang of pain go through my chest as I realized that while an image of remembrance for the hospital, before the damage, was still around, that one day, it would eventually disappear. And all that would remain would be a memory of what unfortunate fate was put upon the hospital and how that fate came to be.
We drove countless roads discovering the same horrid things over and over again. Neighborhoods held corrupted streets. Some even contained lifeless bodies. Searches for signs of life in heavily damaged areas were organized everyday. With the help of volunteers from Joplin and many other cities, tons of lives were spared. Still, families were on the streets with nothing left but a few salvageable items. Tear -stained faces were seen every minute of every day. Our city wasn’t crying because we felt pity for ourselves; we were crying, because we felt pity for others.
Yes, we cried, mourned, and felt sorrow, but that’s not all we did. We did these things while we worked, while we worked to rebuild. Yes, when the tornado came by, we were, in a sense, crushed and devastated by what had been put upon our town. But did we give up? Did we sit around on our butts thinking about our losses and everything that went wrong? No. We looked at the future, at what the rebirth of Joplin would bring. We had hope, faith, and love in our eyes and hearts, and we accepted the challenge that awaited us with an air of determination. Everyone and I mean EVERYONE felt an urgent need to get up, to do something. Hundreds of policemen and special forces came to our rescue. We might have been struck down, but in the process of getting back up, we had not only the help of our local citizens, but also the help of our nation.
Volunteers from all around the states came to distribute food, water, clothing, and supplies. Shelters were set up in the town’s Memorial Hall, and many local townspeople opened up their homes for the homeless and for the many volunteers who came. One volunteer even traveled the sea for Joplin. He came all the way from Japan just days after the tragic incident. When asked why he chose to come help our town, he simply replied that our nation had done the same for his when the cruel tsunami raged through Japan last March. With so much help and support from our nation, from our world even, Joplin was starting to brighten.
With all the work efforts, Joplin was starting to look like itself, again. Streets were cleared up a bit, and trash was starting to be picked up and disposed of. The tornado might have crushed our town, but it didn’t crush our spirits. And it certainly didn’t touch a sign of hope. Through the rubble of East 26th Street, the cross of St. Mary’s Catholic Church stood proudly above the destruction. It was like a sign of hope, a sign telling our community that Joplin will heal; we will rebuild.
Over the days, weeks, and months, Joplin did recover. Most of the trash, if not all of it, was either taken to the dump or recycled. Homes were on the verge of rebuilding, and businesses were signing construction contracts. The roads were reopened, and flowers even started growing on the sides of the highway again. The Extreme Home Makeover team even came to our town to rebuild a few houses and replenish Cunningham Park. Things almost seemed to be on a normal flow, like before. Sadly, that wasn’t the case. When the storm came by, it changed Joplin. I can’t say with a definite expression that Joplin will ever be the same. We lost so many precious lives in that tornado. We lost our homes, our jobs, our families, our friends. We lost so much, but in our time of need, we were not forgotten. We had the support of not only our nation, but also many other nations.
We had the care and love of other communities as our community tried to pick itself up. Weirdly enough, disaster really does bring a community together. It makes you appreciate what you have rather than what you want. It makes you realize the difference between what is important and what is not. Some people refer to our Joplin, Missouri, community as the heart of America, and when we were hit, they said that the heart was cracked, that there was no hope. That was on the day of the tornado. Now, those same people look at us and say otherwise. The heart is healing. It might have a few rough patches and bumps along the way, but it is healing. Why do they say this? We have the strength and love to prove them wrong. We have the integrity, effort, and persistence to show them that we can rebuild, even if we are starting from the scratch. We have and truly are the wings to the eagle.
1 comment:
I've known Jennifer since she was in preschool ... With my daughter. This was a well written piece capturing the emotions and viewpoint of a young person in Jopllin.
I am glad she and her family are ok and have moved forward .
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