T Minus 3 Days

Three days and counting, I will arrive in New Orleans. Three days and counting, I wonder: what will I see?

People ask me why I'm going: I quip that I like rubble. I then instantly feel guilty for making light of the destruction of a city.

People ask me what I expect: That's a much harder question to answer. The truth is I'm trying very hard not to have any expectations.

A year ago in Houston, I worked with several Katrina refugees. Their stories were vivid; their eyes spoke volumes. I expected to see anger, frustration, despair, fear, grief. They were internally displaced persons, and I expected them to be, well, emotionally displaced as well.

I worked with one family for several days. Their home had been flooded along with much of the city; the men in the family seemed to have washed away as well. Some had walked off long ago; one had walked away in the days leading up to the storm.

Little of what I saw conformed to my expectations. Yes, they were angry, uncertain about the future and afraid of what it might hold. But mostly they were tired. Unsurprised by the ordeal they had gone through or the lack of support they had received, the emotional toll was still easy to discern. When Rita came barreling in to town, I thought that that would be their breaking point. Of course, I have since learned to leave my expectations behind: they are often far from what I see.

With the anniversary of Katrina fast approaching, new storms are brewing in the gulf, and celebrations are being planned. Celebrations are not something I would have expected. I suppose that’s another set of expectations I ought to check at the door.