Severe Weather

April for us often means tornadoes.  We were kept awake last night by the severe weather and the warnings of James Spann.  We are mentally preparing for more tonight.  Our basement is ready for Eric, Booker and me...plus neighbors Joel, Angie, their two boys and possibly Jillian, Danny and their son Noah.  We have a neighborhood of many homes without basements and I am afraid for people without basements.  I think of Reba.  I'm sure Eric does, too.  It has been three years and two days since I found her mailing label in our roses...

Smith Institute, about twenty minutes away from Gadsden, was hit badly.  Eric worked the area this morning with his camera, documenting the damage. His text to me later, "Man, it's bad."  He found our friends Jacob and Hilary who live in that community.  They were okay.  Their house was not. Virginia and Kenny ended up with their garage pushed into their kitchen.  They are okay, too, though.  And Tami and Jimmy, whose home is down the road a piece from Virginia and Kenny's place, had debris in their yard, but no damage.  As far as we can tell, there has thankfully been no loss of life.

My talented friend Cookie Beck wrote a poem and posted it to Facebook during all the weather related activities last night.  For such a stressful time, it was a moment of clarity and hilarity for this Alabama girl:

33/40

he reads Tweets
and says things like
"complicated polygon"
"lead circulation"
"possible rotation"
and he apologizes that
we are missing 'Wheel of Fortune' right now.
Shhhh.
don't you be sorry, James.
your suspenders
are my Tornado Safe Place.

Y'all be safe out there.

Reba's Crepe Myrtle

Today is the year anniversary of the Alabama tornadoes.  I woke up thinking about Reba and her dear family.  I know that today is going to be hard on them.  I wish them peace.

About two months after I found Reba's mailing label in the roses, I decided to plant a crepe myrtle in her memory.  In the root ball of her crepe myrtle, I placed the label, thereby returning it to nature, which was as I had found it.  I did not blog about the plantings, as I knew we were experiencing drought conditions, and I was afraid that the tree would not survive.  I didn't want any additional heartache visited upon her family (even a heartache so small as a tree not taking to a transplanting).  So, I planted her tree, with a brother tree across the sidewalk, quietly and without fanfare.

This is a photo from 29 June 2011, the day I planted the two crepe myrtles.  Reba's is the one on the left, still in the pot, waiting to be planted.

About two months later, Reba's son messaged me to ask how Reba's crepe myrtle was doing, because he remembered that I mentioned that I was planning to remember her in such a fashion.  Happily, I was able to report:

...funny that you mention the crepe myrtle...at the time that I planted the crepe myrtle in which I placed Reba's address label, I planted another crepe myrtle across from it. Both trees came from the same nursery (the local master gardners), both the same size/age (leggy adolescents), and neither had flower buds on them (wouldn't expect any until next year, since I planted them late spring). But when I saw your query this morning, I went out to take a closer look at the trees. Interestingly, Reba's tree has a lot more growth on it, and surprisingly, I found one tender little flower bud cluster forming on one of the top branches. So Jeff, Reba's crepe myrtle is doing great...is surpassing my first year expectations. I suppose I really shouldn't be surprised...

Both crepe myrtles are still doing remarkably well to this day, as you can see in the photo below:

But Reba's is still knocking it out of the park.   I love that her tree had flowers on it last year...I expect many more this year. 

But Even Then

Last Saturday, while in Oklahoma City for a wedding, we visited the Oklahoma CityNational Memorial.  It is a moving experience to visit such a beautiful, peaceful memorial for such a tragic event in our nation’s history, and in our nation’s psyche.  I was even more moved by the heartbreaking elegy that has grown from a chain-link fence along the edge of one end of the official memorial.  This chain-link fence has become a depository for mementoes:  American flags, stuffed animals, necklaces, keychains, photos and messages.  Walking past a small sock monkey, I couldn’t help but run my thumb across its rain-soaked belly and wonder how long it would survive in its present state, being exposed to the elements as it is.   

Three years ago, on April 27, 2009, my friend Craig Arnold went missing while doing research on a volcanic island off the coast of Japan. Exactly two years later, on April 27, 2011, Reba J. Jones (a woman whom I did not know but would become acquainted with because of her mailing label finding its way into my rose bush) perished in the devastating tornadoes that tore across Alabama that day.  Two months ago, on February 16, my cousin Mark A. Smith left his home in Kentucky, and has not been heard from since.

In the case of Craig, after a great deal of searching by individuals familiar with the island, as well as an international special response group, it was determined that he suffered an injury that led to a fatal fall.  His body was never recovered. You may read my original blog posts about Craig here and here.

When I found Mrs. Jones’ mailing label in my rose bush the day after the tornadoes, I blogged about it in the hopes of finding out who Reba J. Jones was and what had happened to her.  Mrs. Jones’ friends and family happened upon my blog and generously responded by sharing many details of her story.   To read the blog post and responses about Reba J. Jones, please go here.

And Mark…well, we have nothing to go on for Mark.  He just seems to have disappeared without a trace.  All that I know about him at this point is what I blogged last month, which may be viewed here and here.

I’ve been thinking a great deal about closure lately:  what is closure, and do we need it in order to move on after a loss and/or trauma?  Personally speaking, closure is the denouement: the resolution or outcome of a situation.  Or, more easily though of, closure  is an ending to a story.  I (and I’m sure the majority of other people out there) prefer to have closure, but sometimes, closure is just not there to be had.  When I don’t have closure, it makes it more difficult, but not impossible, to move on.  I learn to deal with the memories and feelings over time, and they eventually cause me less sadness and anxiety (usually).  But even then, there is always the possibility that something will trigger my memory of that person…be it a rose bush, a dish of spicy curry, or the beginning strums of Waylon Jenning’s guitar as he plays the theme song from The Dukes of Hazzard…and darn, if I don’t feel a lump in my throat.  And no matter how hard I swallow, that lump just won’t go away anytime soon.

In the initial days following Craig’s disappearance, I had a seemingly irrational, yet very realistic fear that he was being rained on, and that he couldn’t find shelter.  I felt the same way about Reba.  And now, as much as I don’t want to, I have the same feeling about Mark.  Again, it seems irrational, this worry of mine.  But I was, and am, bothered by the possibility of Craig, Reba, and Mark being exposed to the elements.  I can’t verbalize it any better than that, and I try not to dwell on it.  But there it is.