THE PITS

In my very first blog entry I mentioned my great-grandparents storm shelter or storm pit as we called it.  They lived approximately 100 miles north of the Gulf Coast so we stayed with them and in their storm pit during Hurricane Camille.  I was eight years old at the time and here is what I remember about the experience and the pit:

It was dirty and smelly,

dark and scary.

It was hot and built underground;

so the only way in was down,

and the only way out was up.

Inside, I felt secluded and cut off from the rest of the world, but I was not alone.  My parents, my brother, grandparents, great-grandparents, and maybe others that I do not remember were in there with me.  Because it was dark, I feared snakes, spiders, and any other creepy crawlies that may have taken shelter from the storm as well.  But, since I had a greater fear of what was going on outside of those dirt walls, I stayed put. (Not that I had a choice really.) I wondered what the storm was doing and what kind of damage we would find once outside.  I wondered how my parents would know when to leave. I thought we were all going to suffocate.

Once the storm was over and we were finally outside, life was different and difficult for us for quite a while.  Our home in Long Beach, Mississippi, as well as, all of our belongings had been completely destroyed. We learned the insignificance of “stuff” and the significance of others. We were humbled and grateful as we witnessed an outpouring of love and generosity from friends, family, and complete strangers who were there to help us through this journey. 

In the beginning of 2007, my daughter pushed me, the rest of her family, and everyone else who loved her away and climbed down into her own pit. She lived there seemingly content for nearly two years.  At the end of 2008 I caught a glimpse of her hand as she reached up while trying to climb out.  So what did I do?  I went in.  It was all too familiar, and here is what I saw:  It was dark, dirty, scary, and smelly.  Inside, she was secluded and cut off from the rest of the world, but not alone.  She wondered if she would ever be able to leave, but the fear of what she would encounter on the outside, kept her inside.  She wondered if anyone would be there to stand by her until she could get on her feet again.  She thought she would suffocate. I went in thinking I could carry her out for fresh air and she could begin to live again, but soon discovered that this was an impossibility.

She has not made it out yet.  And while it is not possible for me to go in and carry her out, it is possible for me to go in and wrap my love around her in hopes that someday with my help and prayers she will let go of her fears and trust enough to begin her ascent. I LONG to see her foot on the last step as she climbs out.  I LIVE to see her foot on the last step as she climbs out: Far, far away from her pit!