'I hope we can be happy soon'

Family,

Words can never express the profound sadness and heartbreak we are all experiencing in the Deep South. It is surreal. We are happy and know that we have been spared, blessed through all of this, but it is hard to cling to such seemingly small hopes. Everywhere here there is destruction, in many places absolute and total obliteration. Our beloved New Orleans is gone. I do not see the Deep South recovering from this. EVER. Such emotional and financial tolls have never in our lifetimes been experienced. There are millions of unknown variables, and those things we do know, the bits and pieces of news that trickle in, are always more daunting.

I cannot begin to tell you about the emotions I experienced when I walked into Mimi and David's house and saw them all there, alive. Michelle and Mimi ran to me, and the three of us clung to each other and sobbed for five minutes before we could communicate further. Jimmy and I drove past destruction that we were not able to comprehend. There is no way anyone survived what we saw, and yet they did. The hand of God, no doubt, in every way.

When I say we saw thousands of downed trees, it is an understatement. Trees piled 15, even 20, feet high. We walked over many downed power lines. Andrea and her husband, Stacie, and their three boys are in their home on the coast. They cannot afford to stay in a hotel room any longer. The conditions are deplorable, the heat oppressive.

The baby has no diapers, and last we heard they had one quart of water and no food. We are trying to get word to them to get them out.

Amy and Chris also went home, same thing. No one has a job, no income. All they have are these broken homes, no electricity. Amy said the baby cried all night from the heat. There was nothing they could do to help her sleep.

They are all on the verge of losing it, and they need gas to get out of there. Conditions outside are unimaginable. There are dead bodies on the ground and in the water. The water is toxic.

Now we are living under martial law in south Louisiana and Mississippi. There are no rights. The police are told to shoot to kill. There are armed bands of gangs invading homes, robbing, looting. There was just a robbery one-fourth of a mile from my house. My mail lady reported this a little while ago. She goes about her route crying all day because her brother has not been found in New Orleans. It is a typical scene here.

Michelle and I just locked the kids in and went for food (I got power back but had no good food to eat for these guys. We finally opened the fridge after all this time to pull it all out and into a garbage can.) You do not see normal-looking people. Everywhere eyes are swollen from crying.

People are tired and hot, dirty and sad. There have been riots. Armed forces personnel are being shot, cars and boats hijacked. Jimmy went to work today for the first time this week. I called to see if he could come home. He said they are in lockdown. He works for a state agency. Gail called to tell us that they are playing this down in the media (imagine that!). She said Brad's friend with FEMA was at the house, and he said to lock up tight and do not open the doors for anyone. He said it is a war zone (this is just here in Baton Rouge). He said to load guns.

Gail said Brad had them all trained to use shotguns at his house! We are living in a Third World country with no end in sight. I am praying that the efforts to get Ken out will be successful and that all of Cindy and Michelle's children can get out very, very soon. As I write this, I hear sirens about every 15 minutes outside my home. My heart is broken in a million pieces. Our lives are shattered. No one has a job to go to even if they could.

I have to go. We will all be fine. The kids have instructions to not leave the house or open the door. I have an alarm with a panic button, and I have burglar bars on my windows and deadbolts on all doors.

I love you all. I hope we can be happy soon. We will get through this and all pull together for the family!

Love,

Neese