On Memorial Day night, the Miami Valley area of Ohio was devastated by tornadoes -- 15 to 19 tornadoes, depending on which news article you read.
Other than a few shows on Me-TV, I don't watch much regular television, choosing Netflix instead. ("Father Brown" is my latest series -- LOOOVVVE Father Brown!) One week ago today, I had finished watching television, but had not yet switched over to Netflix. I took care of the dogs, did a few chores, and got ready for bed, all to the background noise of Me-TV. I was about to settle in for an episode of "Father Brown," but just as I had the remote in my hand, the local news interrupted with a severe weather alert.
I must admit that, like many other people at first, I was annoyed. It seems that the meteorologists spend hours on the air at the slightest raindrop. This time was different. They were not "crying wolf" today.
As they tracked the paths of the numerous twisters, at one point they announced one was headed directly my way. Terrified, I waited for the locomotive to come crashing through my neighborhood -- possibly my house. Silence.
Later, I learned that particular tornado had changed direction and ripped through someone else's neighborhood in a different area of town. I was glued to the coverage and shocked by what I could see in the dark news footage. Storms like this are frightening enough during the day, but at night, it is unbelievably worse.
I got very little sleep, and even that wasn't consecutive, as I would wake from a fitful doze when I heard wind or thunder, certain the storms were back. Then I would watch some more of the unfolding news stories of devastation in my area. Tears streamed at the thought of those poor people who had lost everything.
Today was the first time I saw any of the damage in person. I honestly cannot come up with words to describe what I saw. All I could do was gasp and say, "Oh my God."
Trees, businesses, homes ... bent, broken, destroyed. One life confirmed lost. Countless other lives in turmoil and upheaval.
And here I was, mildly inconvenienced for a few days by a couple things resulting from the storm.
In my mind, I keep hearing the words on the news that the tornado was headed directly this way, and I realize how incredibly lucky I am. I have seen the devastation on the news, and saw a little of it as I drove by this evening, My heart aches for those who have been more than merely inconvenienced. My heart breaks for those who have lost everything.
And there is guilt. A touch of survivor's guilt, I'm sure. More than that, though, is the guilt that I want more. For years, I have wanted to move. My childhood dream carried itself into adulthood, and I prayed for a farm with horses and sheep and dogs, oh my! My wonderful husband and I would -- Oh, wait; that part of the dream never came true, either. No husband (wonderful or otherwise). Just me and my mediocre salary. One failure after another after another, and I realized that I would never fulfill my dream of having a farm or horses. I have downsized my dream again and again. Two years ago, when I began my most recent home search, I hoped for 5 acres, then 2, then 1. Days... weeks... months... years have passed, and I am still stuck here in my rental house in a neighborhood where I am afraid to walk my dogs. Short of winning the lottery, it appears that I will be stuck here until I die.
All I want is a house, preferably one-story, with a little bit of acreage and a building or room to train my dogs. Is that too much to ask?
A week ago, I would have said that it was not too much to ask. Today, I feel guilty for asking.
