Remembering the Storm

An anniversary is approaching; one that I do not remember fondly. On April 27, 2011, the United States was hit with a series of supercell storms that spawned the largest, costliest tornado outbreak the nation had ever seen; 348 people were killed. More than 175 tornadoes hit Mississippi, Alabama, and Tennessee alone.

I lived in North Alabama at the time. An EF-4 tornado more than a mile wide that touched down in Mississippi traveled on the ground across north Alabama, all the way to Tennessee. It passed less than a quarter mile from my home. My daughters, the dog and I were bedded down in a closet at the time; seeing how the tornado utterly leveled the far more expensive homes in the subdivision just across from our cul-de-sac, I shudder to think what might have happened had we been in the storm’s path. As it was, we were without power for a full week and spent months helping to clean up.

It was the closest encounter I’d ever had with a tornado—and I had had several, growing up in central Indiana. I learned early that when you can hear the sirens, it’s time to take things seriously. Once, my brother and I were in the car with my mother when the sirens went off. The closest shelter we could get to was my aunt and uncle’s apartment complex. I remember huddling under the stairs on the first floor of their building with my uncle and his neighbors. Another time, the sirens went off while we were at home. We went into the laundry room—an interior, windowless room—and as we sat on the floor, the overhead light fixture exploded, spraying sparks and glass. We were startled, but unhurt.

As an adult, I’ve had close calls, too. My daughter and I drove home from Birmingham to Athens, Alabama, through a line of storms that periodically dropped tornadoes all around us. A car is a dangerous place to be during a tornado, so I had the radio on, listening as the weatherman called out towns I did not know. I stopped at one point at a gas station, and we stood inside watching the weather radar on the station’s television with the rest of the travelers, waiting until a break in the storm that looked like it would let us pass, and grimly setting out for home. On the morning of April 27^th, 2011, unaware of what a “supercell” was or how serious it could be, I was actually at the Chick-fil-A with my girls when the sirens went off. The restaurant staff cordially invited us to shelter in their bathrooms, which we did. Two young employees, brimful of teen bulletproof-ness, watched from the drive-thru as a funnel cloud passed over the building without touching down. Afterward, the staff invited us back into the restaurant and re-made everyone’s meals for free. We drove home during a break in the weather, only to find ourselves hunkered down, later, listening to the eerie sound first of the sirens, and then of the storm as it passed perilously close by.

So when I say that my heart goes out to those affected by this spring’s storms, I absolutely mean it. I pray for your safety and I grieve for your losses.  Whatever the weather—tornadoes or severe thunderstorms, hurricanes or fires or floods—I am thinking of you.