Our fellow Americans came from far and wide to work with us, shoulder to shoulder, to dig (literally) our way out of the refuse of our past lives. We will be forever grateful, and I don’t ever want to forget the love and gratitude, the smiles and the tears that dominated those days when the volunteers hugged us, kissed us, and made the bo-bo on our hearts feel a little better. It was during those times that I was TRULY proud to be an American.
He looked at death as the next step in life, and felt that the end of the earthbound life should be celebrated as a special occasion.
We were determined to be a part of the clean up and recovery of our community. It was a hard life that first year, but we did what we had to do.
At 7:00 a.m., the phone rang. It was Tracy. She was calling from her summer home in Carriere, Mississippi, on the edge of Picayune. “It’s a Cat 5,” she said. I sat up in bed. “WHAT??? Since when,”, I asked. “I don’t know, she hit a hot spot and flared up overnight. What are you going to do?” I woke Eddie up, saying “It’s a Cat 5, Ed. Wake up. We can’t stay!”