This will be the hardest memory to retrieve, as I caught the wind of Hurricane Katrina\'s blast in my town of Hammond, LA, a thirty-five minute drive from New Orleans where my friends, family and I had lived.\r\n\r\nThe night of the hurricane, the sounds of wind, wind, wind, the limbs and trees being uprooted, the darkness, the whispering of the storm, itself, shook me. I had been given a one-dollar radio by a colleague at Southeastern Louisiana State University where I was teaching as Writer-in-Residence. I knew not that this radio would be my only connection after Katrina hit.\r\n\r\nWith every hurricane, I had packed my things, driven to Dallas, Texas with my family for safety. This time, I was not aware that Katrina was coming, until a student called and informed me of the number: It\'s a 5, he said. A 5.\r\n\r\nBut something told me not to leave this time; perhaps, at that particular moment in my life, I was sick of running; so, I stayed.\r\n\r\nAfter Katrina hit, there was no electricity; I had not stocked the shelves with food; there was a silence, children crying and children running in the streets, climbing atop the trees that had been uprooted by the wind.\r\n\r\nI did not cry or moan.\r\nI had gone into a shock that still lasts, a shock that ripped through my heart and bone and I could tell what day it was.\r\n\r\nThe street I lived on was blockaded with trees and limbs and everyone walked around with their faces down, hands over our mouths; finally, that hurricane we had been worned about all our lives had happened and we were in it.\r\n\r\nI knew not what friends of mine were alive or what family and I could only call my good friend, Stefanie, who lived in California; I asked, What happened? She replied, It\'s bad, O. It\'s bad.\r\n\r\nAt that point, I knew Hammond was torn apart, but not as badly as New Orleans. I heard the reporters in the background, the cries, the people moaning and I was afraid. Everyone I could imagine I knew was dead.\r\n\r\nAnd there was the Mississippi family of my mother\'s heart; they had been hit as well in the little town of Osyka, Mississippi.\r\n\r\nI am a writer and I could not write, could not think of how to form the words in my head, could not gather myself, could not breathe or be; all the things had suddenly become difficult.\r\n\r\nHammond was under a curfew; no one in or out past eight \'o\' clock; and it was when the sun went down that the crickets chirped and there was a silence of death and worrying trapped in the air. We all thought the people in our heads were dead.\r\n\r\nNo word.\r\nNo way to get out.\r\n\r\nOn the third day, the food was scarce and there were no ATMs open or gas stations and I remember finally showering; this is when the impact of what happened hit me; I collapsed in the shower with a series of crying spells that lasted a good part of the day; I could not breathe and keep my sanity at once.\r\n\r\nI cannot remember when I walked out of it; there was only the dollar radio Robin had given me to keep me going and my God, what I heard.\r\n\r\nThe hurricane brought out the best and worst of the human condition; there were those who had been kind who turned into impatient beings and those who had not been kind who were stricken with a Supreme kindness.\r\n\r\nThere was the man who got out of his car and took a baby from the car in front of him (that was without a/c) and the father gave him the baby to keep cool. It was one of the most precious moments of love.\r\n\r\nI could not help but weep.\r\n\r\nThere is more to write, but I have not the energy to write it. I can only say that I have not gotten over it and never will and I can remember why I stayed now.\r\n\r\nBecause I needed to.\r\n\r\nI was home.