April 27th, 2011 is a day those in the south are likely never to forget. In the days between April 25th and April 28th there were over 350 torando’s spanning 21 states. The largest tornado outbreak in US History. April 27th, the storm hit Alabama and changed my life here in Tennessee.
There is something completely indescribable about watching Facebook and Twitter and hearing towns you know, streets you know, places you’ve been…being completely destroyed. I refreshed my page hoping to see updates from friends. Letting me know that the news was wrong, James Spann was wrong. But James Spann isn’t wrong, and he wasn’t wrong then either.
Many friends of mine lost their homes, luckily my family was safe. But the instant shift in me was clear. I couldn’t look at this and watch this happen and not do something. I connected with a church about an hour from here that was already sending supplies down to Alabama, Cody and I emptied the tolietries section of the local Dollar Store and dropped them off. Doing our part right? But it wasn’t enough. I watched video’s and cried. My friends posted pictures and I knew it wasn’t enough. The toothbrushes and tiny deodorants and sun screen…they weren’t enough. I wanted to do more. I just wasn’t sure what more meant.
And then it came naturally. A Facebook page had been started Toomer’s for Tuscaloosa (TFT), donation spots all over the country were being set up at a rapid pace. But no one could find a local one because the page was moving so fast, too fast. I would organize it. I could do that from my house. I would just have a website set up, list each state, and organize these locations as they came in. I had no idea what I was walking into. What I was about to get myself into. But I needed to do more, and I am not the type to wait around and ask for direction. I just did it.
The first days of helping with relief are a blur. Cody would wake up in the morning and I would still be working. But what I was doing was such a small part in such a massive thing. I honestly can not even begin to tell you how big this relief effort had become. And what I was doing, was nothing. I couldn’t physically BE there helping. But I was doing what I could. And I felt peace with that. At one point during the first week or so there were donation drop off locations in every single state. Most states had multiple locations accepting donations to come to us. People were paying out of pocket for UHauls to bring the donations down to Alabama. Truck Drivers were picking up items and bringing them to us when they could on their routes. The generosity I experienced moved me to tears daily. I was broken hearted seeing what was happening in my home state, but being healed by seeing how much others were willing to do and give of themselves.
There are phone calls, and stories, and pictures, and conversations that happened in that first week that have changed my life. I remember sitting in my basement and taking a call from someone doing search and rescue and crying. I couldn’t see the keyboard in front of me because of the tears. Many people wondered why I was helping, why I didn’t just take a break. How could I? I was sitting in my air conditioned house, with a roof over my head and food in my fridge, my family was safe. How could I simply walk away for a day knowing that I was helping someone? Someone who lost every physical item they ever owned? Who lost their mother, father, son, daughter, sister, brother, friend? Why should I get to take a break from helping that person, even if they don’t know? How could I?
My role in TFT changed quickly. As the immediate efforts evolved to a more long term relief effort the needs of the group changed. Lisa, who will always be referred to as my TFT Wife, and I manned e-mails, handled corporate donations, begged corporations for donations. Made phone calls, answered e-mails, handled the Facebook page. We weren’t the only ones mind you. There were others. We were all doing a small piece that made up the whole. The grass roots organization that started immediately after the April 27th tornadoes was now a Non-Profit Organization. We were able to organize volunteers to go out in groups and assist in clean up. We were able to organize meals for victims and volunteers. We were able to give clothes and other necessities to families who lost everything.
You can’t be a part of something like that and not have it change you. You can’t watch destruction the same way again. Sometimes you close your eyes and you remember the stories and your heart breaks all over again. The group of people I worked hand in hand with are part of my life forever. The four of them who make up the only people I really talked to for weeks.
It’s been a year and Alabama still hasn’t recovered, physically. But that sort of repair takes time. When you look at maps like this one you feel as though a state may never recover. But that’s not how Alabama does things.
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