The heavy rain pelted heavily against my quickly dampening coat as I stared down at the disaster zone from a highway overpass. Just an hour earlier, the devastated and ravaged remains I was now observing were nothing short of a quiet, bucolic neighborhood on a dreary Monday afternoon.
My wife was somewhere amidst the rubble that remained from a strong category three tornado that ripped through our town. I wanted to rush to her, comfort her, tell her I loved her and everything was going to be alright. But I couldn’t. The local and state police had locked down the disaster zone due to open gas lines, downed power lines, and enough hazardous debris to fill a city dump. Furthermore, there was speculation that another tornado could touch down at any time.
You always think this only happens to other people in distant towns but now it was happening to my own family.