I don’t think I would have chosen this subject for Memoirs.

But my weekly blog post happens to fall on the actual, 20th Anniversary of Hurricane Katrina…which makes me feel like I should reflect upon this day, and write something about it.

Hurricane Katrina was a meteorite that crashed and destroyed my former life.

I died to my former life.

There is no way to go back.

And that was the hardest part.

Letting go of the life I knew and the people I loved…the community and city that made me.

I had to let go of the dreams and the possibilities of what I thought my life would or could be.

I wrote some notes down, outlining my thoughts that I have accumulated throughout these 20 years.

I’ve identified three main pillars that describe my sentiments about my experience of Hurricane Katrina:

Grief / Grievance
Ghost / Past Life
Gratitude.

There are a few documentaries that came out recently on Hulu and Netflix about Hurricane Katrina.

Maybe I'll muster up the strength to watch them.

I will watch them.

It’s so important to watch them.

But, to be honest, I feel a great reluctance to do so.

I lived it.

I remember it well.

And in many ways, I don’t want to remember and re-experience, the deep sadness and anger of seeing my beloved city underwater and the unnecessary suffering, mistreatment and loss of life of American citizens that made New Orleans such a special city.

However, I do encourage you to watch them.

I was 20 years old, when Katrina happened. I was in my third year in undergrad at the University of New Orleans.

I was so excited for that year.

I completed my first week and we had to bunker down for the storm.

My family packed a duffle bag of clothes for the weekend. We placed all of our belongings on top of the dresser and our beds, in case of flooding. And was prepared to wait out the storm at my grandparents house—a home my grandpa built with his own hands. The safest place we knew in the city.

The storm was set to hit New Orleans Sunday night, early Monday morning.

And my Mom couldn’t sleep that Saturday night.

Although we always stayed in the city to weather hurricanes in the past, that morning, she purchased plane tickets for me and my sister to meet up with my dad, who evacuated to Dallas, Texas.

My mom was to remain in New Orleans with my grandparents who decided to stay in New Orleans.

I distinctly remember talking to my mom Monday morning after the storm had passed.

Everything was fine.

Some branches down, but nothing major. No flooding. Just no power, which was typical.

My dad, sister and I, with our extended family went to Six Flags.

Later that evening, I called to check on my Mom.

She said, “Can’t talk. Water is coming into the house.”

The levees broke.

Three feet of water got into the house, eight feet total in that neighborhood.

Luckily my grandparents house was already five feet off the ground. Three feet of water inside the house; no water on the second floor.

Then, it was about 4 days where there was zero contact with my Mom.

I had no idea, how my Mom, grandma and grandpa, Uncle and cousin was doing.

People with good intentions, was trying to get us back to “normal.” Get us back in school or get us a job.

Perhaps give us a purpose, something to do during the day, opposed to just sitting around, waiting.

I just wanted to get back home to my Mom, and to our lives.

Two weeks after the storm had passed, I was very lucky to be reunited with my family.

My mom, grandparents, uncle and cousin survived.

We lost all of our material possessions. Literally started over. But we had each other—which is a lot more than what many New Orleanians experienced.

Family and the people we love, cannot be replaced.

Material possessions can.

When I think of Hurricane Katrina, I experience and feel deep grief.

I remember those moments like it was yesterday.

I can feel that time still in my body as I write.

And that life, I once had, and knew, feels very distant.

Initially, I was very reluctant to embrace Houston, because I still maintained hope that I would go back home.

I remembered not wanting to make friends, and I remembered that confused many people.

My main thought in my head at that time, was “I need to go back home.”

It wasn’t until October 2005, when we were finally able to return to New Orleans and investigate the damage— nearly two months later.

This was when we gutted out our house.

We went through all of our belongings to see what we could salvage, which wasn’t much.

Giant sized piles of debree stacked in front of our home, towered, overshadowed us.

This was the moment when I knew, the moment I accepted, I no longer had a home in New Orleans.

My home was in Houston.

When I visit New Orleans, specifically my old neighborhood, I feel like, what I imagine, a ghost must feel like.

I’m roaming the land and a space, that I no longer belong in.

It contains memories and aspects that are me, that no longer exist. And I am denied a future that I once had the potential to experience.

Katrina was a man-made, negligence, a grievance, that impacted so many lives.

And I mourn her.

My old life. My old self. My city.

New Orleans is a city… but it’s a small city, that has small town vibes.

Everyone, if you talk to them long enough, has some connection to someone you know, or some connection to you.

Each neighborhood is a five minute drive to the other.

Everyday, you are bound to run into someone you know.

Everyday, you say “hello,” or “good morning” to someone you don’t know.

We hold open the doors for each other. We say, “Hey baby,” and “How you doing?” to each other.

Everyday, we hold a random conversation with someone we’ve never met before.

My neighbors, Mr. Joe and Ms. JoAnn, who lived across the street from my Dad’s house, were my “extra” set of grandparents. My sister and I spent every other weekend by their house.

I grieve my family and my community, this beautiful, complex, diverse, special city and my access to the amazing people in it, all which has fed my soul into the woman I am today.

I mourn her.

That past life, lives on within my spirit.

I bring it with me, always. And these moments, although painful to think about sometimes, also, bring me so much strength, pride, and gratitude.

Now, I’ve been living in Houston for 20 years— the same amount of years, I’ve lived in New Orleans.

I dare not imagine what my life would be like had Hurricane Katrina never happened.

I’m not sure if I would have become an attorney.

I don’t think I would have become an artist. I don’t think I would have pursued creating art seriously.

I would not have met my husband Mark—which makes me cry to think about.

I would not have our family, our three older kids, and the memories we’ve created during the ten years.

And my son would not have existed.

I would not have met so many angels in Houston, one in particular, the late, Felix D. Cook—a beautiful soul, human being that forever changed my life.

I would not have met so many friends, especially on my art journey that have also, forever changed my life and become my family.

Houston Strong, is a real thing.

And the people of Houston, truly come together and take care of one another, their neighbors during times of turmoil, and times of need.

God definitely had a hand in guiding us, protecting us, and keeping us close and safe and loved.

And I am, also, filled with so much gratitude for the incredible love and kindness my family received during, literally, the hardest time in our lives.

I will always be forever grateful.

I am very proud to call Houston home.

And I am very grateful, for my second life.

Hurricane Katrina for me, represents: Rebirth.

I was given a whole new life,that grew so far beyond what I could have ever imagined.

Life is ever changing.

Everyday we wake up, we are a new person.

Every new thought, every new book, every new experience, each new conversation or person you meet, creates growth.

Each day, each year, we are no longer the same person.

We are new.

We have the potential to become, to achieve, and to give more than the day or the year before.

Each person, each experience, lives on within us.

Love never dies.

The memory of all the love we received lives on, always, in us.

All my memories, from New Orleans and Houston, I carry forth, with me, now…and always.