I spent the day before Hurricane Katrina and day of Katrina at work. We slept very little the night before the storm was to hit.
We weathered the storm pretty good (no one was hurt), but the first floor of our building was flooded. And all of the company vehicles went under water.
After Katrina I was sleeping in a vacant office where I work. My house had three feet of water in it and I had no transportation, as my personal vehicles went under water, as well as my company-supplied vehicle.
My wife had evacuated the Coast and was staying with a relative in Florida.
Then a friend and fellow worker offered me a spot on his floor - along with himself, his wife, son, mom, dad, brother, and friend(s).
My wife made several trips back to the Coast; she was able to bring us supplies that we could not get locally.
The same friend knew a friend of a friend who had heard that registrations for FEMA trainers would be held at the Menge Avenue flea market.
My friend and I headed for the registration. We got there early in the morning and the line was already long. There were workers handing out MREs and water.
We stood in line for over six hours, but finally got all of the paperwork filled out.
I did not tell my wife that I was applying, just in case we were turned down.
It was about a month later that the call came from FEMA. A trailer was going to be delivered the next day to be set up at my flooded house. I took off from work and waited for the arrival.
The FEMA workers hooked the trailer up to sewer and power - thank you, Mississippi Power! - and, after a quick rundown on how a travel trailer works, I was left alone.
The trailer looked so small.
But that night I slept in a bed - one that I'd come to call home for more than a year.
My wife came back into town and we started the task of gutting our house. Late at night, when were exhausted from the physical work of demolition, we were grateful to have a place that had running water, air-conditioning and a soft bed.
It took us a while to figure out that the hot water heater heated only six gallons of water. This meant you had approximately one minute of steady hot water to soap up and rinse off.
Or you could (as my dad told me) take a military shower. Get wet. Turn the water off. Soap up. Turn the water on. Rinse off. With this method, my wife and I could both shower before we went to work.
As the months progressed we even began to call the little FEMA trailer "home."
My wife did what she could to make the trailer more like a home - a few what-nots, some real sheets, there wasn't room for much else.
We spent mornings and nights together in our small new home. All of the time together brought us even closer. When one of us was down, the other would find some way to lift the other's spirits.
Now, more than a year later, we are moving back into our semi-complete house (we have a bed and a bathroom that are fully functional) and I am surprised to find it hard to remove my few belongings that survived the storm from the place that I called home for more than a year. It's almost as if I'm deserting a friend that pulled me through some very, very trying times.
When it seemed that all else was lost in our lives except for our love for each other, this little speck of hope arrived at the precise time my wife and I needed it.
Our memories of life in the FEMA trailer are very special to us and will be with us for the rest of our lives.
Thank you, FEMA, for seeing us through the toughest days of our lives.