Cookies

Nashville is cleaning up after our horrendous flood of last week. My friend and neighbor has made cookies, brownies, fudge, and bread to take to the flood victims in our area. Over the course of several days she graciously allows me to accompany her, and we drive up and down one devastated street after the other distributing her goodies to volunteers and victims alike. We hear one tragic story, and then another, and I realize yet again that we each walk our own versions of hell. I am not the only one suffering. I am not the only one who is going through challenging times. I am not the only one who has lost a child. Other people have unrecoverable losses, too.

As the days progress the piles of refuse in front of people's homes grow ever larger. Some piles completely obscure the house behind it. This is all these people have. Everything they own is in a ruined pile of stenchy slop in front of their house.

But as I look closer, as the horror of the miles of trash grow more distinct, I see the individuality, rather than the generic. There is a tall, narrow set of wire shelves. Over there are two dining room chairs that might be salvageable. There is a metal picture frame that is not too badly damaged. Across the street I see a set of slimy glass vases that look unbroken. Colby would have loved this.

I miss Colby every second of every day but even more so now, here, because Colby would have loved these piles of flooded trash. I can see him walking the streets, talking with the home owners and volunteers, pitching in to help pull a dresser through a door, and directing a car through a particularly narrow spot on the road. With the combination of helping others and finding free stuff that might could, maybe, someday, be cleaned and re-used, Colby would have been in his element.

As someone in my online support group recently wrote, we grieving parents miss seeing our kids grow and develop through the natural stages of life. Colby would have loved to open his own thrift store. I will never get to see him do that. I will never get to see him help these flood victims or turn twenty-five, have kids or grow old. But worst of all, Colby will never get to experience these things either. Not that he would have enjoyed the pain and suffering the flood victims are enduring, but he would have loved the aftermath, the helping, the process of rebuilding. And he so would have loved all the "stuff." Even if it was covered in flood slime.

Goodwill

I have given a lot of Colby's "stuff" to the Goodwill. The most recent load I took over the day before it began to rain here in Nashville. The day before the big flood began. This particular Goodwill was underwater for much of the flood and yesterday when I drove by workers were pulling bins of merchandise out to the sidewalk to dry out. Not much looks salvageable.

I see a big wire bin of stuffed animals and my heart leaps into my throat. One of the boxes I just dropped off had a number of Colby's hats and stuffed animals in it. Not his most favorite "stuffies," those I will always keep, but many stuffed toys he played with and loved greatly. Nine months after Colby passed I was ready for another child to love those toys. I was not ready to see them covered in mud and slime. But I had to know if these damaged toys had once belonged to my son.

I started digging through the bin. I know the Goodwill frequently redistributes donations to other stores. I so hoped that was the case here. The workers looked at me from time to time, but they were busy salvaging what they could so they did not pay too much attention to me. And besides, I was probably not the only crazy person they'd seen that day. I took every stuffed toy out of that bin and each gesture of mine was more frantic than the last. Colby's beloved toys could not be here, water logged and destroyed. They just couldn't. And . . . they weren't.

When I realized that I put the toys carefully back in the bin and sat down on the curb and cried with relief. I was not sure why the safety of his toys was so important to me. I had voluntarily given them away. Wanted to give them away. But, I realized, I did not want them thrown away. I wanted the love Colby had shown those animals to live on in the shining eyes of another child. And maybe they still will.

My hope is that the toys were moved to another store before the flood. That they are safe and dry. Hopefully most are already in the arms of another little boy or girl. I'd like to believe that--have to believe it. For the alternative, for me, is unthinkable.

Memorabilia

I watch news coverage about our recent flooding here in Nashville. So many have lost everything they own. Everything. Thinking about the deep loss hundreds, thousands of people are experiencing makes me feel shaky. It brings me back to the early days when Colby's loss was so fresh and new. That's a terrible place to be.

It also reminds me that in my quest to sort through Colby's "stuff" I need to make sure the important things––photos, legal and other important documents, treasured memorabilia––are kept in a safe place. This means a fireproof/waterproof box, along with copies of everything that is possible to copy in a separate safe location on a different property.

This is an important task not only for me to do, but for everyone to do. Our flood has certainly shown those of us here in Nashville that disaster can strike in an instant. In a few seconds, everything you have can be destroyed. I've lost my son, I don't need to lose my most treasured mementos of him, too.

In the past few days I have gone back to feeling quite overwhelmed and the thought of the time involved to organize these things that are so important to me makes me want to curl up into a little ball and hide. I go back to my mantra of breaking large jobs into small tasks. On the Internet I find many sites that recommend taking photos of treasured items and then storing those files on your computer and also on several back up discs that could be kept at another home or in a safe deposit box. I can do photos. One thing at a time. Having a plan always makes me feel better.

My thoughts and prayers to all victims of the Nashville flood.

Floods

We have just gone through the worst flooding in Nashville's history. Are still going through it. Devastation everywhere. Too mind-boggling to describe, but if you are interested in learning more, the Tennessean and WSMV have photos and video. I am fortunate. My only inconvenience has been a lack of electricity and limited access to roads.

Today I drive to a few places where Colby and I used to hike. Most I cannot get to; the rest are completely underwater. I am saddened beyond belief at the destruction these flood waters have caused. Will cause. So many people have lost everything they own. I so wish Colby were here because he would jump right in to help. My son would be right out there in the middle of it all lending a hand, or a smile, or a pat on the back. I have seen many stories over the past few days of neighbor helping neighbor. Colby should have been one of them. I want to do this in his place, but I cannot. I have helped horses and other animals, have driven through raging flood waters to be sure they are fed, housed, dry. But I do not have the emotional strength to help stranded people. I wish I did. I really wish I did.

The flood has caused many to lose their lives and I am reminded that everyone is someone's son or daughter. So many new grieving parents. I am surprised by how much this affects me emotionally. I am again overwhelmed, unfocused, jittery. My stomach does continual flip-flops and I feel like I cannot breathe. I wish Colby were here. I so wish he were here. That's the only thing that will help. But that will never, ever, be.