I was a Junior at the University of Alabama when Hurricane Katrina took out my hometown and left my parents’ home under some 8 feet of water.

I didn’t get the evacuation experience–I had been in my dorm room out of state for a good two weeks before the storm came.

My first trip back to New Orleans that November was just insane. It felt incredibly surreal–especially driving through the neighborhood and going to the house.

We went up after Mass on Sunday (after Thanksgiving) to see the house. On Sundays, the local radio station did something called “Breakfast with the Beatles,” and as we were driving down Harrison Ave, one street over from where my family had lived, “Golden Slumbers” came on.

“Once there was a way to get back homeward. Once there was a way to get back home.”

Seriously, I couldn’t make that detail up if I tried.

I saw the house. I cried standing in my room, I remember. There wasn’t really much that was salvageable–some books maybe, that were high up on my bookshelf. I took some of the books that looked undamaged at my father’s urging, but I’ve never read any of them again. I didn’t really want to touch them then, and I still don’t.

Then we left. My major emotion, I remember, was gratitude that no one I loved had been hurt in the storm. It was easier for me than a lot of others . . . I HADN’T lost anyone in the storm. I didn’t have the crazy evacuation experience, either. I was too young to own property and have to deal with insurance . . .

I remember telling myself it was all just stuff. I lost my Mom to cancer when I was eleven–when I mention my parents above, I mean my Dad and stepmother–and I just kept recalling what that was like, because it put my personal Katrina losses and grief in perspective.

I was one of the lucky ones. I lost only stuff.

But every August 29, I still listen to Cowboy Mouth’s “The Avenue.” They’re my favorite local band. This is such a brilliant song . . .

“Water broke past the levee. My heart beats hard and heavy. There’s so much more to say, but I’m silent. For now. I’m lost deep in the emotions that hit me just like an ocean that seemed so refreshing once, but it’s not. For now. Because the marching bands will roll. I’ll find my city in my soul. Because I plan on growing old on the Avenue.”

“My best friend’s house lies beneath the tear drops God has bequeathed to add to the pools of rage that are full. For now. I never thought I would see in my lifetime my memories, but fate has a way to show who’s the boss. For now. Because the marching bands will roll. I’ll find my city in my soul. Because I plan on growing old on the Avenute.

“And the parades will ride again. I’ll see my family and my friends. Because this cannot be the end of the Avenue.

It’s so hard to take this hurt and hide it on a shelf. It’s just ’cause I never want to be from somewhere else.”

That last line right there . . . it says it all. If you are from New Orleans, you understand you can never want to be from somewhere else.