Starting over

Lori Borgman

I've never had to start over. At least not completely. And not from scratch.

Sure, I’ve had to start over in the kitchen a number of times -- cooking endeavors that wound up in the trash, down the disposal or simply went up in flames. But there were always more ingredients in the cupboards.

And yes, I’ve had to start over on painting projects (too pink), wall papering (crooked stripes) and refinishing projects, but the foundation was always there.

I have had to start over on my faith a number of times – return to square one and inch forward -- but I always had a point from which to regroup and begin again.

I have never had to start over when the cupboards were bare, the foundation crumbling and my faith bordering on despair. And now, after the worst flooding in 100 years, many fellow Hoosiers are doing just that. They're starting over. Completely, and from scratch.

Thunderstorms, tornadoes, straight-line winds and raging floodwaters have pummeled the entire Midwest. It has been one red and yellow storm front after another roaring across Kansas, Missouri, Iowa, Illinois, Indiana, Michigan and Wisconsin. Nature’s campaign of shock and awe has ignited the skies, spawned funnel clouds, and triggered epic rains.

Welcome to summer.

One news clip showed a man scooping out shattered debris from his shell of a house with a snow shovel. Scoop and swoosh -- the contents of the kitchen and garage are out with the trash, just like that. At least the man still had a shovel.

Then there was the man sloshing his way through knee-deep water lugging a computer monitor, a CD player and a bicycle tire. Not much to work with, but it was something.

And then there are the houses that collapse in slow motion as the earth gives way and the lovely four bedroom/two bath with the three-car garage is swallowed whole by the raging flood waters. Not only is the house gone, but the land on which it stood has been sucked into a cauldron as well.

We all wonder how we'd do it -- how we'd start over if we were the ones on the television and not the ones watching the television.

I supposed you do it the way everyone who has survived a natural disaster before you has done it. You go numb, you anguish, then you count your blessings that you're still alive and put one foot in front of the other. You start small. You begin in a corner and work your way out. You begin making piles, things that are salvageable, things that are rubbish, things that have a future and things destined to remain a part of the past.

You make calls and more calls and find sustenance one day at a time.

You find comfort in community - that others are struggling alongside you, wading through the same disbelief, brown water, suffocating heat and sweltering humidity.

I imagine you do the big exhale at the sight of the Red Cross, the Salvation Army and the troops in fatigues. It must also be reassuring to know that those who escaped unscathed are doing more than watching. They are praying, writing checks, phoning in credit card numbers, donating supplies and cheering you on, not only as you start again, but all the way to the finish.