This week marks twenty years since Hurricane Katrina changed New Orleans and the Gulf South forever. If you live here, you know the news has been filled with remembrance pieces, footage, and commentary. For many of us who lived it, reliving those days isn’t easy.
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to write this. But after stumbling across an old photo of my dad while working on a project for Ben Franklin High School—my school during Katrina—I felt like it was a sign to share.
Our Katrina Story
At the time, my family lived in Lakeview. Our street had never flooded before. But when the levees broke, our home took on eight feet of water. We also owned the rental house next door and my mother’s office in Metairie, which had a foot and a half of flooding—enough to cause serious damage.
My dad stayed behind during the storm to “protect the property.” It was a dangerous choice. He had already undergone a lung transplant, which left him on heavy immune suppressants. For a week after the storm, my mom and I—evacuated to New Iberia with our five dogs and cat—had no idea whether he was dead or alive.
Eventually, he was rescued by boat and helicopter (a much longer story for another time). But that was only the beginning. Four months before Katrina, he had dropped our flood insurance on all our properties because he wanted to “save money.” Rebuilding became an uphill battle.
Lessons Learned
The months that followed were some of the hardest of our lives. Yet, we were lucky. We didn’t lose anyone close to us, and all our pets were safe. Friends and family stepped in, and little by little, life pieced itself back together.
Through it all, we learned a powerful truth: stuff is only stuff. Homes can be rebuilt, furniture replaced, and offices repaired. What mattered most was that we still had each other.
Today, Mom and I love our house and our neighbors. And Dad got to live his last years in a stable, comfortable home. Life has a way of rebuilding itself, even when you can’t see how in the moment.
A Photo and a Sign
The reason I decided to share this now is that photo I mentioned earlier. In the Ben Franklin archives, I found a picture of my dad—wearing his usual mismatched outfit of army-green sweatpants, camouflage boots, and an LSU t-shirt—helping clean up the school after the storm. One of our longtime friends coined Dad’s style as “homeless chic,” and quite honestly I can’t think of a better way to describe it.
In a nutshell, Dad was stubborn, frugal, imperfect, and endlessly determined. Finding this photo felt like his way of telling me, “Go ahead and write it.” So here I am.
Moving Forward
For anyone reliving tough memories this week, my hope is that you also find reminders of resilience. New Orleans is strong. The Gulf Coast is strong. Biloxi, New Orleans, and so many other communities devastated by the storm are thriving again.
Things change. Sometimes for the worse, sometimes for the better. Often, you don’t see the “better” until much later.
Twenty years later, I am grateful—for survival, for community, for the lessons learned, and for the life we built after the storm.