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Friday May 24, 2013

Tornado Alley.That's what they call where I am from. Whenever someone hears my accent they naturally ask what part of America am I from, not able to recognize the twang mixed with the slow southern drawl. "Oklahoma, I am sure you never heard of it," I answer. Sometimes my answer is meet with a chorus of Rodgers and Hammerstein's "Oklahoma", which always results in my eyes rolling. And the next question is always, "how do you like our weather?". My response is always, "I love England's weather. You guys have no idea how mild the weather is here," which is usually met with protests and declarations that the weather in the UK is horrendous. Now the questions everyone wants to know about are tornadoes.

Oklahoma is a diverse state, a very beautiful and green state full of trees, hills, lakes, farmland and wide open spaces. God's country we say with pride. And her people are as rugged as the vast country outdoors. Rednecks, dumb hicks, Okies, that's what other Americans often label us. But we are a strong people who have survived the Dust Bowl, the Murray bombing, numerous natural disasters and are the 48th poorest state in the nation. This one, though, has knocked us to our knees. It isn't that Oklahoma hasn't suffered the loss of life before. Hundreds have died over the years. Surreal is the word followed by numbness then grief. Twenty children. Seven of those babies died by drowning in their school from broken water pipes. I am as tough as they come. Big, bad butch lesbian. I have worked as a corrections officer with death row inmates, in public schools as a armed security officer and served in the United States Navy. And yet I can not stop the large tears ruining the ink as they fall while I write this. God I hope they were unconscious and felt no pain, had no knowledge of what was happening to their tiny bodies. No fear, just peace.

Images across the BBC news of the place I call home, resemble the aftermath of a bomb exploding. It is a sight I am all too familiar with as I have seen such devastation in person on more than one occasion. Words cannot begin to describe what it is like to stand in what was once a thriving community and a neighborhood of homes where children played and families lived, and now lays in ruins by one of these monster storms. Total and utter chaos, devastation. Leveled. Gone. Nothing is recognizable. Stunned silence, loss. And then quietly, almost immediately, people begin to stir and rise from the rubble, shifting through debris and start the rebuilding process. Somewhere, someone hangs a tattered Stars and Stripes. Old Glory, the symbol of hope and all we stand for. And as always, prayers are lifted to God, thankful for what remains and receiving comfort for what has been lost. These are my people, this is where I come from. And the land we belong to is grand.