My story begins on the mountain I use to know as my life. Tall and strong, I feel as if nothing can touch my happiness. I just started my senior year at the University of New Orleans. I have the perfect job as a research assistant in a psychology clinic. My children are in perfect health, and my husband was just accepted to Tulane University and is marching in their first ever marching band. We settled on a church, which is no small thing since we have been looking for a year. Life is perfect. It makes sense.\r\nJust as we stretch our legs, a small tropical storm is growing into a hurricane. We go to bed Friday night thinking that our dear friends in Florida are in for a big one, but we wake up to a nightmare. The hurricane is headed straight for us.\r\n \r\n“Mama, mama, mama,” baby Lainey whispers from her crib. I stretch my arms as I reach for the remote control to check out the latest weather report. You know, just to check and see what the hurricane is doing. Much to my surprise the hurricane has shifted courses, and it is headed straight for New Orleans. “Great,” I think to myself. “We still haven’t been paid for our travel claim for the last hurricane. Here we go again.” Secretly panic fills my heart. \r\nI call my husband’s cell phone about twenty or more times. He’s at band camp, and I realize that it’s going to take some time to get in touch with him. I hang up from my last attempt, and I sigh. Just then my phone rings. “Is Sergeant Richardson there?” “Umm, no he’s not here right now. May I ask who’s calling?” “This is Major Williams. We are under an evacuation order.” I listen carefully as I wonder how in the world I am going to get everything together by noon when the base is set to close, and Virgil is still at school. Everything is happening so fast. I feel a little dizzy.\r\nI quickly locate the phone number to the band, and I make the call. Panic fills my voice as I tell the band director the news. “Please have Virgil call me. We have to evacuate our base.” Mr.Spanier seems confused. “Okay, I’ll have him call you.” I don’t think he believes me, but how could he? No one expected the hurricane to turn our way.\r\nI finally talk Virgil into leaving band camp to come home and help me pack. I’m so nervous as I create a laundry list of things to do. So much goes through my head at once. “Pack the pictures. Get gas. Make sure to bring food this time. Where’s my brother’s box? Leave room for the dog.” I begin to rush to get stuff together. Virgil finally arrives about an hour or so later.\r\n“There are lines to get gas. There are literally lines wrapped around buildings,” he says. Virgil is frustrated with the massive lines of traffic that have already begun forming. I am frustrated about everything. I try to calm his nerves while conveying the sense of urgency. We don’t want to repeat the Ivan evacuation experience, but I still haven’t changed my clothes, and I haven’t made it to the shower. Nothing is going right. Virgil lies down on the bed. “What are you doing?” I yell. We have to get ready, and you’re just laying there! “I don’t want to go,” he says. He seems angry. He begins to vent his frustrations of constantly having to evacuate, but my mind wanders. I keep hearing my mother’s voice in my head. “Are you watching the news?” She asks with that motherly tone. “Mom, it’s headed for Florida. We’ll be fine.” I brush her off with such confidence that the memory of it makes me shiver.\r\nWe finally finish packing, and we begin our journey. We have one of our vehicles. The other we leave at Tulane. We have our family, our dog, and most of our treasures. Traffic is light to Slidell. Most people are headed for Baton Rouge. Our spirit is mostly light hearted.\r\nWe finally arrive in Nashville late Saturday night. We decide to take a mini vacation to my best friend’s house. Most of Sunday is spent watching the news. On Monday we take a brief break from the stress of the storm to go out. \r\nThe nights are sleepless. I constantly monitor the weather. After the hurricane passes I feel relief that it seems that New Orleans fared well. I rest easier Monday night. On Tuesday I wake up with a renewed spirit, and I am already asking to set a date to go home. \r\nI turn on the TV once more to catch a brief look at the city now that the media is back up. No person and no religion could ever prepare me for what I saw. Miles upon miles of houses are underwater. Tears fill my eyes. I feel sad, and then I feel numb. Days and nights are now spent in front of the TV as we search for images of our base, our home. I watch. I worry. I wait.\r\nThe call comes for us to report to Dallas, TX. Help has already begun to pour in from the Marines in the Dallas/Ft.Worth area. We check in at the hotel, and Virgil immediately gets back to work trying to establish a line of resources and communications for our displaced unit. We are all a family now. We are united in our struggles, and we begin to help each other in the most amazing ways. \r\nA resource network materializes that helps all of our Marines and their families find information on doctors, FEMA, insurance companies, jobs, and much more. Donations pour in from the Marine Corps league of Dallas. We are anxious to help each other survive.\r\nSoon we meet with the commanding officer to find out what the plan will be. We find out that we will be here for at least thirty days, possibly sixty. We are all together, and that strengthens our commitment to help each other.\r\nOver the next several weeks people begin traveling to their homes. Some have lost everything. Others have lost nothing. Frustration builds. Our families are pent up in tiny rooms, and there is no sense of meaning for the wives. At home we worked, we cooked, we cleaned, and we went to school. What do we do now? Our husbands are working again, but we are alone. I feel lost. I feel as if I have no place. My life doesn’t make sense, and I begin to drown. My heart is full of gratitude, but I miss my life. I miss my job. I miss school. I miss New Orleans.\r\n\r\nWe have only lived in New Orleans for about a year and three months. Truthfully when I found out that we were moving I did not want to go. I thought that I would hate it. At first I did, but it grew on me. I grew to love New Orleans. I really began to see it as my home. Each member of our family recently began to settle roots here. Everything was going so well. It is almost impossible to put into words how lost I feel. We will probably be forced to live in Dallas as a result of the storm. My family hasn’t lost much, but we lost our security. Some of our dreams died the day the levees broke. \r\nWe went back to New Orleans once. Our losses pale in comparison to so many of yours. I feel sad that we didn’t share your losses. The city is quiet. It is calm. There’s so much destruction everywhere, and I wonder how nature can be so cruel. We hated to leave, but our orders keep us in Dallas.\r\nWe’ve been in one hotel or another for fifty-one days. We hope each day that there will be more news about our anticipated move. We keep getting up each day, and that is faith in action. No one knows what tomorrow will bring. We, the people of New Orleans, are united in our thoughts. We are displaced, but we are never truly alone. Tonight thousands of people are united in their memories of our city. We picture the city as we knew it.\r\n\r\nThe smoky sound of a saxophone caresses my ears. One melody plays right after another as I take my first bite of my Aunt Sally’s famous praline. We spent the day wandering the French market looking for nothing in particular. We had an amazing lunch at the Gumbo shop. I had my favorite…red beans and rice. The sun is beginning to set as we walk towards our car. We’ll take the ferry boat over the mighty Mississippi to our base. My son jumps up and down screaming, “Are we gonna ride the ferry boat?” I smile. “It’s a surprise.” I say. Secretly my heart melts at the simplicity of his joy. We ride the boat, and as we set off into the water my son begins blowing kisses to the buildings. “Good night buildings,” he yells. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”