Late Boyfriend was born and raised in New Orleans (N'awlins), and, true to his city, he weathered Katrina in a hotel, with looters down the hall. I broke up with Late Boyfriend about a month before the hurricane, for reasons to be discussed later, but it's things like this that make me wonder why I ever left him. This is from his IM profile:
I got back from a house today, a house that had been totally flooded past the ceiling. The walls and ceilings had discintegrated and the isulation from teh attic laid sopping over the floor which could not be seen. I've seen flood lines on things all over the city. I"ve seen trees fallen on streets and houses. I was here when the storm raged through my town, and i watched the water rise. I waded in waste deep waterjust to see my house the day after the storm. I head tell of people in lakeview whose houses were safe util the levee broke and cuase the water to rise to the ceiling in under an hour forcing them to take refuge in attics and rooftops. I've heard stories of mnay old people dying, not from the storn itself, but from what i can only suspect to be hte effect on them of the storm experience. Iv'e seen plants dead all around and boats in the middle of the street. I"ve heard horrible stories of victims of katrina turning into criminals and horrible guests to wonderful people. However. I"ve been to Houston where the hospitality and generocity was immesurable. I've been back to the city to salvage pictures and whatever else of real value can saved. I've seen new spots of green grass shoot up amongst the brown. I"ve wathced p eople's faces light up as they find one picture out of a hundred that miraculoulsly made it through the water. I've eaten free meals provided by the red cross, and gotten free water from FEMA. I see all the work that is being done to clean and rebuild this city. I know what it is to walk into a house and have on'e sinuses burn from the mold. I've seen the destruction, and i've seen evidence of all the wonderful things that are going to come of this storm. I will not forwake my city. I will not forget the devestation. I will not forget hte kindess taht i was shown. I am a survivor and I intend to thrive.
That's my boy. That's the boy I know. The boy who loves his city. The boy who makes me cry. Amid all the rough spots, amid all the misspellings, there is my gem. He is indeed a survivor, and I know he'll make it through.
But the question is, will I?
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