The thunder shook the house waking me from a deep sleep. Lightning flashed like a strobe light making strange patterns through the bedroom curtains. The rain pouring down on my tin roof, a sound that usually comforted me, sounded like the thundering hoofs of a thousand horses.
I got up and went into the living room, I knew the storm would prevent the satellite from connecting, so I grabbed my laptop prayed I could connect long enough to check the weather. As the interactive radar slowly loaded, I was stunned by the amount of red that covered our state.
To the South and the East of me the map showed massive amounts of rain and lightning strikes. I whispered a prayer that everyone would make it through the storm and then I climbed into bed and tried to get a little more sleep.
And still it rained.
I awoke with a start as another loud clap of thunder shook my little house. It was daylight so I had apparently slept for a couple of hours. Staggering to the kitchen to make coffee, I turned on the television. Of course, with the weather being so bad, the satellite would not connect.
I connected to the internet and logged into Facebook. Pictures of the devastation scrolled by, houses flooded, roads under water……tears streaked my face.
And still it rained.
The day dragged by, spotty reception making it seem longer than it actual was.
And still it rained.
I stood on the porch and looked across my flooded yard. I live on a ridge, high out of the flood plain, yet the rain came down so fast that the water didn’t have a chance to drain. Thunder roared like a trapped beast and lightning cut across the darkened sky. I worried for those that lived in low laying areas.
And still it rained.
The television finally connected and I turned to a local station. “Local” for me being a station almost one hundred miles away. The pictures they were showing were heart wrenching, houses completely under water, only their roofs showing, roads entirely covered, bridges gone. The streets of Richwood as boulders larger than I am were washed down the streets. Clendenin as the water raised deeper and deeper. White Sulphur Springs as houses began to float away and then burst into flames as the propane tanks exploded. I cried for the trapped, I cried for the lost and for the loss of everything.
And still it rained, the sky emitting a torrent of tears for what had been done.
And then the rain stopped, but the water did not.
It poured out of river banks, it slammed across fields and golf courses, it crested against bridges building up a barrier of broken trees and items it had stolen from the many houses it had destroyed, it weighed against the bridges until the bridges could stand no more and they too joined in the fray of broken items roaring away with the river.
Land was literally stolen from underneath the roadways, causing the roads to collapse and disappear with the very thing that caused their destruction.
The sound of the thunder was all but drowned out by the cries of the people and the sound of the raging river. Slowly the thunder faded, leaving behind a thunder of a different sort……..the thunder of a thousand prayers going up for those impacted by the floods. The river still raged, the wind still blew, but the prayers and good energy flew straight and true.
The devastation was and is enormous. The losses uncountable. The loss of everything you’ve ever worked for, of everything you have ever owned is minuscule in comparison to the loss of lives. Brothers lost to the raging water, Mothers lost to not only the flood but the burning of homes,
Children without anything wondering if they will ever see their siblings again.
The rain had turned to tears.
The pain our State feels, the devastation we are suffering brings even the strongest of us to tears. Not only have our neighbors lost their homes, their possessions, their lives, but now they are faced with a foot or more of mud, mud that contaminates everything it touches, mud that could cause death as surely as the rain did. Some places are still under water, or have standing water pooled around it, standing water that is a perfect breeding ground for disease carrying insects and bacteria.
The tears have slowed, although they may never stop.
Amidst all of the devastation there are bright spots. Neighbors coming from miles away with food and water, bleach and cleaning supplies. Those same neighbors rolling up their sleeves to receive the shots they must have in order to help clean up the mess Mother Nature left behind. Strangers that live miles away becoming friends as they deliver water and supplies to those who had something to go back “home” to or offer places to stay to those who have lost even the buildings that contained their lives.
An older man who had lost his beloved wife a few years ago and was overwhelmed by the destruction the flood left behind. He was happy he still had the “home” he shared with his wife, but devastated that all the things that reminded him of her were now beyond saving. Until they reached the bedroom. There, on the headboard lay his wife’s Bible. It was wet and covered in mud, but it, unlike the other books in the home, was in one piece. Not one page was even so much as bent, each and every printed word was still there as was his beloved wife’s handwriting. Everyone’s cheeks were once again wet with tears only this time they were tears of gratitude as the elderly man laid that precious book on the bannister to dry.
A family devastated by the loss of their beloved son only a few years ago to a war they didn’t understand or support, were dealt a double blow. Their home was gone, washed away by the raging power of the flood. Out of all the things they lost, the pictures of their son was the only thing that could never be replaced. Then as the cleanup began and the magnitude of what had happened began to sink in, a miracle happened. Someone walked up holding out a framed picture, it had been found almost five hundred yards from where the house once stood. Smiling up from the mud smeared glass was their son. The picture was almost dry and even the glass hadn’t been broken. Now, they said, now they can go on.
A couple that had been camping by the river and was now presumed dead, found alive and safe miles away from the destruction.
A beloved pet found, wet and frightened, but alive and well.
A young boy whose family had lost everything they possessed, radiant with happiness as a National Guard service man handed him a new hat. Now the little boy HAD something of his very own, something that wasn’t covered in mud or washed downstream.
People from all over Appalachia coming to the aid of their “hillbilly” neighbors as food and water begin to arrive. Then Appalachia hands them another miracle, people from all over pour in to assist in any way they can, where ever they can.
West Virginia still needs supplies, we need water and non perishable food, we need bleach and cleaning supplies, rubber gloves and steel toed boots, diapers and formula, dog food and cat litter, shampoo and soap, deodorant and toothpaste. We will need hammers and nails, boards and drywall, and all of the other things it takes to build houses and we will need sheets and towels, pots and pans, dishes and silverware. We will need everything because we are starting all over again.
We will need assistance in cleaning up and rebuilding, because we will rebuild.
That is who we are, we are strong, we are resilient, we are stubborn and we are humble.
We stand proudly beside one another.
We help those we can.
We are Appalachia, We ARE West Virginia.
