Our family's relationship with hurricanes is intimate. In 2006 our youngest sister, Kelli Nelson Armstrong was a Labor and Delivery nurse at Charity Hospital in New Orleans. She made a call to family members on her way into the hospital for her scheduled shift, optimistic, slightly annoyed by all the attention Katrina had brought, unconcerned by the threats of the storm. Within 24 hours, we knew our sister was in grave danger there in the hospital and was witnessing sights that would haunt her to this day.
Weeks later, our brother Kevin Radanovich, owner of GreenWalls-US and his wife, Kimberlina, owner of Kimberlina Whettam, and Associates and former Peace Corp volunteer, traveled to New Orleans to repair parts of the family home there. The devastation they witnessed, the despair of the city, left a major impression on them as well.
No wonder, then, that weeks after hurricane Harvey destroyed Houston, Kimberlina called from Los Angeles me to ask if I would be interested in spending Thanksgiving Holiday doing repair work in Houston. Kevin Radanovich would bring his trailer of construction tools, her company would purchase materials, and we would haul the whole shebang to Texas with as many family members and volunteers as we could muster to do the work. I was in immediately. So was Kelli. Now a wife and mother of four small children, the opportunity to help a young family face the devastation of hurricane Harvey was irresistible, welcomed and healing.
However, hurricanes were not the first storm my family weathered, but racism. In 1972 when Carl Nelson, an African American school teacher married Catherine Gehin, a Home Economist, blending his three black, grown children with her two white small sons into one family seemed dauting. The storm in our family brewed, raged, subsided, and brewed again over the decades. There were misunderstandings, hurt feelings, anger and resentment, but somehow, we muddled through becoming an eclectic band of brothers and sisters different in race and separated by a decade in age, who teased, argued, laughed and worried about one another. Then, in 1997 our father died of cancer, pulling the now six siblings home from around the country for the first time in years. His death was the biggest storm for us collectively, surpassed for the three oldest children by the death of our mother, Helene Nelson in 2010, leaving Cathy Nelson, the only surviving parent of the diverse band of adult children, to pass on family stories and to oversee the lessons that had been taught in the family; work hard; do your best; all work is good work. Be honest. Believe in God and give back. Lessons which had absolutely nothing to do with race or the other differences humans give importance.
Those storms in our family taught us not to let the rain and winds of anger and hurt blow us apart. As we grew older, my siblings and I married, had children and grandchildren with the next generations learning from the challenges that the one before faced. By the time Harvey struck in Houston, we understood the resistance to a storm is offered in how well we lock arms and band together. We know how to build structures, but we also know how to build a family. Our tools are hammers and saws, drywall and screws, but also understanding, patience, acceptance and oh so very much love, enough to cover those brave enough to welcome us into their homes to help with rebuilding.
The generosity of others also fueled our enthusiasm. Kevin Radanovich established a GoFundMe account which reached almost $3,000 in donations. Nancy Keeling, a North Houston writer and artist, herself a flood survivor, found Manuel and Rosie Aguilar and their three children in Houston's Bear Creek subdivision, while our sister, Kelli Armstrong, learned of the plight of a fellow Mommy and Me member, Shelle Gordon-Simon, mother of two small children and her husband, Paul Simon, of Richmond Texas. Both families were left with little to nothing but were willing to let perfect strangers come into their home to do what repairs we could.
We were unprepared for the destruction we saw. Nancy Keeling opened her home for meals and showers, and I felt sorrow that the beautiful Victorian home, I had known from past visits with its gracious Japanese decor had been so impacted by the six inches of flood water that filled her first level. Still, her home was insured, so drywall had been replaced and received fresh coats of paint. Healing was underway. Shelle and Paul's house suffered two feet of water. The Aguilar home was the worst, however, as a full four feet had filled their home. There was nothing to do but get to work. My daughter, Callie, and husband Robert Bremer and their three kids, including eleven-year-old Aiden, and family friend, Bill Ross, drove to Los Angeles from the San Francisco Bay Area where we joined Kevin and Kimberlina, and Jim Mitford-Taylor, of New Zealand, who had been involved in the initial conversation that hatched the plan. While we drove to Texas, Kevin's daughter, Mila, flew to Houston from San Francisco, and son, Elliot, from Los Angeles once the school week ended. In Texas we joined forces with Shelle and Paul and members of their church and family, Shelle's aunt, Janet of Toronto, Canada, Mike, twin sisters Mertha and Eartha, and several cousins to work on the Gordon-Simon home. There were no walls, only studs to divide the rooms and piles of debris in several rooms. Water marks from the flood were clearly visible on the windows, but Paul greeted us with a great smile and welcoming handshake, undaunted by the destruction and task at hand. Later that day, Shelle, unaccustomed to working with tools, joined us, but everyone got to work. We learned together, laughed, and in three days some walls sported tape and mud, one step closer to paint and a livable environment. On the second day, we split into two groups and began our work at the Aguilar's home. A hired crew from Pennsylvania had begun the drywalling there, so ours focused on walling in the master bathroom and closet, while Nancy fed us dirty rice, and other treats. We learned tips from the Pennsylvania crew, Kevin redesigned an archway for the Gordon-Simons, and children old enough to do any task, sweep up debris, measure, cut drywall and screw in screws were deployed to do what they could.
There is a happiness that can only be earned with hard work. That is how we felt when we left Houston the evening before Thanksgiving, covered in drywall dust, sweaty, achy and ever so much more tired than we had ever been. We'd said our good byes to the Gordon-Simons and Aguilars, friends now, grateful that there was something we could do to help.
In Dallas, at Kelli's house, we all sat down to Thanksgiving dinner. Before the meal Cathy and I chatted over a quilt she was making for my granddaughter, Aiden, about family troubles and triumphs, things that had hurt us, what we had learned, and enjoyed the constant laughter and playing of the many children at the house. The scene was one of chaos and squeals of laughter, and we talked about how Dad would have loved to have been there amongst the nonsense playing out in the room. And we shed tears for his absence. Incidentally, Thanksgiving was Cathy Nelson's birthday; she is our last surviving parent and is now the keeper of Dad's stories and Nelson family stories. A little elder white lady who'd grown up on a dairy farm outside Madison Wisconsin. Twenty family members and friends sat down at the table laden with Cathy's pickled cranberries, dills and her cornbread stuffing next to my sister's smoked turkey and ham. Kim had us play Turkey Crackers, traditionally an English Christmas game. Tubes of rolled paper are held in one hand and crossed over the body, where they are then grabbed on the other end by the person in the next seat. On the count of three, we pulled the crackers apart to reveal the crowns, games, jokes and puzzles inside. And, donned in our crowns, we sang Happy Birthday to Cathy Nelson.
Survival happens when we don't give up, but thriving happens when we hold on to each other, reach across to each other, lock arms, and when we have the courage to listen to each other. Houston's story of rebuilding needs to be heard, daily. The needs of its citizens addressed until every brick has been put back into place, every family returned to their home. The nation must reach out to its citizens to offer what is needed to do so. If not Houston then Florida, Northern California, Puerto Rico need the support of the country, America's citizens, not just the government. Our hands to the needs and work at hand.
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