Ten years ago my mom went to the Superdome

I've written a lot about Katrina over the past 10 years, and thought about just letting the 10th anniversary slip quietly by. But then I realized that wasn't going to happen. It can't happen because there are still so many lessons to learn. Before I get into my and my mom's stories I wanted to take a moment to remember the nearly 1,000 people in Louisiana that lost their lives during Katrina.

Each fleur de lis represents 10 lives. More than half (51%) of the victims were black; about 42% were white; and the remaining were of other ethnicities. (Source: Katrina Deaths) Disasters like Katrina, the perfect storm of natural and man-made catastrophes don't discriminate. They affect us all and take all of us to get through them.



What people don't probably realize is that most of them were elderly, among the most vulnerable, and often the most isolated and forgotten.

Luckily my mom did not become one of those statistics, but she did spend a week at the Superdome, an experience that changed her forever. I wrote extensively about it at the 5 year mark in a series of pieces you can find here, here, and here. I don't think my story of Katrina is any better, worse, more important or relevant than anyone else's. Everyone in or connected to NOLA has a Katrina story.

If you want to see more pieces I've written about Katrina over the years, many are available here. As I scrolled through I reflected on how many little things remind me or set me off about Katrina. Sometimes it is the small things like a warm meal (something I couldn't have for weeks after we returned to NOLA) that make all the difference, and while I am normally accused of being possibly too perky, sometimes the anger bubbles up. I've talked about how a rose signaled I'd found a new home for my mom or how small bits of normalcy are big symbols.

Mom just got up and asked me what I was doing. When I said I was writing about Katrina she asked me what else I could possibly be saying about that. What else indeed.