After the Floods

I have never had a hometown. I grew up as an Air Force brat, never staying more than four years in one place as my dad followed Uncle Sam around the country. Always the shy one, I got good at meeting people and making friends quickly, because I had to. I went to four different high schools and thought staying at one school through college was amazing. My “home,” if anywhere, was “the north,” where I spent a good chunk of my childhood and went to college, but I didn’t have one town that I could go “home” to the way some people did.

I moved to South Carolina in my late twenties to attend seminary and stayed when I began a courtship with the man who became my husband. We have lived here every since — we have had jobs here, bought a home, birthed three children, buried one, and said good-bye to four others lost in early miscarriages. I’ve been in Columbia nearly twenty years now, and can say “y’all” and “bless her heart” like anyone born and raised here, but in spite of all this, I have often felt like an outsider (albeit a much loved outsider), unlike those who have family histories on this soil that go back generations. Forever the Yankee transplant in my adopted city.

Until Sunday.

As news reports began to share the devastation of the heavy rains and the floods, and as comments from friends and pictures began filling my Facebook newsfeed, I found myself reeling. Although my family and home and neighborhood have been safe from the floods, so many familiar and loved places were not.

Monticello Road, where I traveled daily when I was a student at Columbia International University.

Wildewood and Rosewood Drive, where we lived as newlyweds.

Decker Boulevard, where I often traveled as an itinerant ESOL teacher for Richland School District Two.

Percival Road and Spears Creek Church Road, where many of my former students lived.

Polo Road, where I drove daily to bring my children to preschool.

Irmo and Lexington, where we have many friends.

Killian Road, an I-77 exit I use regularly.

Chapin, where we helped with a church plant for a while.

Saluda Shoals where our church children’s ministry has sometimes gathered on a hot summer day.

Riverfront Park where I have walked in remembrance of our babies in Heaven.

Although I was safe, the stories and images captured me and broke my heart. This was not just any disaster. It was mine. Because even though I live in Northeast Columbia, I have familiar places all around the Midlands. And even though my physical home and my family are safe, my hometown was not.

Yes, my home. After all these years of being a nomad, I’ve found my hometown. It’s here, in Columbia. And when I see people offering shelter and clothing to strangers, and restaurants closing because they’ve given all their food to first responders, and businesses collecting supplies for shelters, and churches mobilizing their congregations to help, I don’t just smile at the good in a bad situation. My heart swells with pride because this is my home, these are my neighbors.

When I went for a walk in my yard Monday morning, I was surprised to find something beautiful amid the fallen branches and other debris. A single white rose on a bush that I had forgotten about and had done nothing to nurture. It hadn’t been destroyed by the rains, and seemed to stand proudly in its morning-after glory.

That rose reminds me now of my fellow Columbians. We’ll get through this, and we will come out stronger than ever, collectively, as a community. And right now, I would not want to be any place other than here, in Columbia, SC.

My home.

What are your thoughts on the flooding we’ve experienced? Share your experiences below.