Continued from part 1 and part 2.
Soon after the tornado ripped through the house, the men hesitantly went out to assess the damage. Aaron told me later that he really thought it might be possible that we just lost our roof. As soon as they opened the door, we could see that the hall and rooms outside the door were filled with debris–sheet rock, insulation and fallen pipes. As they stepped over that and rounded the corner to the stairs, Aaron looked up and saw sky. The house was completely gone with the exception of a couple of walls. They could also see that the damage was far beyond our house.
Ashton looking down our stairs…the rails were one of the few things standing on the top floor.
My mother, who was at the hospital with my Dad, had been trying desperately to call in (they knew from the news that the tornado was headed our way). We tried to call out as well but by then, cell service was hit or miss. She finally got through to a neighbor who was with us.
“Everything’s gone”, he told her, “but we’re OK”.
“What about our house?” she asked.
He told her he would go outside and try to see.
“It’s gone too. The house, the shop, the barn…everything.”
Details get difficult to recall at this time, but I know our husbands headed out to start checking that we didn’t have gas leaks, fires, etc.
We didn’t know at this point just how extensive the damage was. I had not even caught a glimpse outside…I was afraid to look. By this time, Aaron reported to me that the valley “looked like a war zone”. “Kelly, you can’t imagine it. You need to prepare yourself.”
It’s difficult to visualize the extent of the damage of this tornado unless you have seen it in person. A picture can only capture a fraction of sight at a time. The tornado literally “scalped” the land in about a 1/2 mile swath. Nothing left standing in its path…only thousands of broken trees and rubble where there was once houses or buildings.
Soon, one of the sons of our dear neighbors, the Lees, ran to our house–about 1/2 mi. (barefooted, I think) to get help for the rest of his family who was trapped under their house. He shared later how grateful he was to call out and hear voices coming from our basement, knowing that there was help available for his family.
The Lee’s home, where all 15 members were buried. Fourteen would make it out alive.
The Lees are dear, sweet friends. They serve themselves empty. They are always concerned with everyone else, never themselves. But this night they needed help.
We received a report from another son who ran back to us for more flashlights that his father wasn’t responsive. My heart sank and I wondered how on earth emergency vehicles were going to get in.
Our husbands and Jesse, an older son who was also a volunteer fire and rescue worker, went to help. Aaron said later that Jesse proved “super-human” in getting the Lees out.
In the meantime, we ladies stayed with the children trying to comfort them both physically and emotionally. We feared another storm and had kept the door to the small room closed but it was so hot we finally opened it. They wanted to go to the bathroom. There was a bathroom close by, but even to get to it you had to step over debris, in the dark, in the rain. We only had one flashlight (the rest had gone with the men to the Lees). And of course the water lines were broken.
There were still about 21 of us in the tiny room that we used as our “universal closet”. That would be a blessing because later many of the children would need shoes and coats; the room was full of them. One of the other families had gone to assess their house and see if it would be suitable for the rest of us to stay. Thankfully, while they received heavy damage from fallen trees, the house was still standing and we would later make the treacherous walk there for the night.
Eventually, the men came back. Aaron told me that our friend, Tom, the husband and father of the Lee family didn’t make it. It was such a heavy blow on top of all the other emotions. Adrenaline ran high, especially among the men. Aaron came into the room, for a moment, and lay prostrate on the floor with his head down. I knelt down beside him. He sobbed. I can’t remember if he said anything but it was as if at that moment, though he knew the night still required much of him, he had to stop and grieve. He had helped carry Tom’s body from the rubble while some of his children stood looking on. I’m sure he felt like cursing the scene that wouldn’t even allow a moment to grieve.
It all seemed like too much to take in…and really, as the body’s way of protecting us, though the eyes can see, I don’t think the brain really does take it all in.
Tiffiny, Emily and Jacob Lee were seriously injured and we were very concerned that medical help would not be able to get to them. They had all been pinned under heavy objects–the girls’ legs and Jacob’s head. There was also concern about their going into shock.
When other neighbors arrived to be with the Lees, our husbands returned to get us out. Still not having seen the outside, the men described what we were going to have to do.
“We’ve got to walk to the Boyds” (which was only basically across the road, but their drive is about 1/4th of a mile long). “It’s going to be difficult…there are power lines down everywhere, and trees, and debris. We’ll have to hold the children and be very careful.”
Hearing this struck fear in me almost equal to the fear of the tornado. Narrowly escaping death makes one feel very vulnerable. I didn’t want to move. I literally wanted to hold my children in the floor and not move.
We formed a straight line and every small child was paired with an adult or older child. I was so thankful for our friends who were there to assist me with my children. I guess the focus of making it safely to the neighbor’s took my mind off of the mess that awaited us outside. It was dark by now too, so we really couldn’t see the extent of it.
Gary Boyd led in front, and stopped us at each hazard. In a loud voice so that the back group could hear, he would describe the hazard and tell us the precautions to take. “You’ll come to a power line overhead. Walk slowly and duck under.” Then he would stand there and remind each person approaching, showing him the danger. To my relief, there was a mysterious calmness and we journeyed safely in about 20 minutes. I don’t recall the children crying very much or expressing fear. They just did what we told them and I believe the Lord gave us all a supernatural peace.
The Boyd’s home where we stayed the first night…one of the few standing in our area…what a beautiful sight.
Once we arrived safely, the Boyds met us with water and instructions to make our stay there as comfortable as possible. It was “crisis hospitality”. Children scattered over the floor to sleep, and the rest of us tried to rest, intermittently talking to family on the phone, tending to a child’s need, or just staring into the dark trying to soak in the night’s events….mostly aching for Sherry and her children.
I called my brother. He was the first person “outside” (besides my parents) that I talked to. His words brought the first lift to my spirits. He said, “Kelly, you can’t see it now, but God is going to do mighty things you never thought possible through this. You’re going to have to pray through it and keep your mind on Him.”
Soon, the bright ray of hope would shine…the hope we thought was impossible…the hope that would begin in the night and grow to overwhelming…a “God kind of hope”.
Words I’ll never forget, spoken Sunday morning by our elder who drove us out of the wreckage the morning after the tornado…“When I pulled into Shoal Creek and saw the devastation all I could think was I’m not leaving here without my family.” ~Ted Phillips
