I have been genuinely afraid precisely 4 times in my adult life. Of these 4 times, two were weather-related events (a tornado in Dallas and Hurricane Charlie). I was also afraid when I had my wreck (a long story) outside Athens. And the 4th was on 9/11/01 (obvious).
Each of my fears - both the weather-related ones and the others - has to do with a sense of total helplessness. I am in a position that I can't control, and that I cannot avoid through actions of my own. It's horrible. That cold fear that grips your heart and makes you feel as though it may stop.
Weather fears are tops in my list right now. My sister-in-law came in for the big Luau Birthday celebration of my step-daughter's 8th birthday. She flew in from New Orleans.
I sat up with her Sunday night as she watched Katrina bear down upon her beloved home. I watched with her while she scanned the faces of the people streaming into the Superdome to see if any of her patients were there. There weren't, and she fears that some were killed if they stayed at their homes in the 9th Ward of the city.
Her patients are of the type that would rather stay and face a Category 5 hurricane than face the prospect of dealing with the police. I sat with her last night while she watched an internet feed of the local news, when they flew over her city. She broke down and cried when they flew over Chalmette, which was the location of the clinic where she was to begin working as a psychiatrist in another two weeks. She won't be needed there for a while - they are more worried about life and death right now. In two months, she'll be one of the most important figures in town.
Doing all this made me remember back a year, to August 14 of 2004. Charlie was down in the gulf and taking aim at Tampa. I was awake through most of the night (despite being 6 months pregnant) watching the weather channel. Mr. DMD had convinced me that it was fine to stay - it was only supposed to be a Category 2 storm, and we live 40+ miles inland. I remember the fear I felt when, at about 5 am, I heard airplanes flying overhead. One after the other. Very close together. It occurred to me that TIA was evacuating all vehicles, including all the Fed Ex planes there. And MacDill was evacuating everything. That's when the cold, dark fear hit me. This one was SERIOUS. I watched in horror as the Weather Channel showed the storm strengthen, and every jog to the "right" gave me a small sigh of relief.
I lived through Hurricane David's assault on the Georgia coast. We had some pecan trees split, and the construction of my aunt's house was hindered. But it wasn't bad. I've lived through tornadoes. Again, scary and a fairly significant danger.
The thing is, however, each of these things were over quickly. I faced the fear I had for a matter of minutes or hours. What I can't fathom is what people must fear now in New Oleans.
That palpable fear of desparation is something I don't really know. I can't imagine it. Sitting, in your attic, unable to crawl down out of it because there's water pooling on the floor of the attic it's so deep. Unable to get out any other way because you're sealed in. Like you're in a tomb. You're there because you couldn't afford to flee. Because you were unable to go to the shelter. If you did, the cops were there, and you'd be arrested for sure. No help in sight. I just can't imagine that kind of fear and isolation.
So I pray. A lot. I pray for the babies whose mommies are so desparate, they're looting the grocery stores for diapers and formula. I pray for those who can't escape. I pray for the people stuck in the Superdome in all that filth. For the people who have no way of figuring out where their house used to be, because every possible landmark was blown/washed away. I pray for the doctors who can't get back in to New Oleans to treat their patients who need them now more than anything. And I pray for the doctors who stayed behind, and now can't begin to cope with the demands on their expertise.
I've dealt with disaster before, but nothign like this one. This nation has not dealt with it in over a generation.
So I pray. It's the least I can do. God will help us heal again.