It had been a terrible night, filled with blowing rain and howling winds and skies illuminated by fingers of lightning that stretched from the heavens to the earth below . . . and thunder.  ALL the thunder, continuously rumbling like a freight train parked outside the bedroom window.  At one point I was trying to count the seconds between the lightning flash and the clap that followed, until I realized it had never grown quiet since the flash before.  That was when I remembered survivors of tornadoes describing the horrible roar, like the aforementioned freight train bearing down on them . . . and I began to wonder if it sounded just like this.  But there had been no storm sirens . . . no dogs howling in the yard as they tend to do when the sirens wail.  And no warning that the world was on the verge of ending.

But eventually the darkness gave way to overcast skies with glimpses of sunlight.  And the storm calmed.  And Wednesday morning I was listening to the birds singing as I got ready for work.  It was then my cell phone rang.  I can’t remember the exact words my brother used after I said hello, but it had something to do with an “unmitigated disaster” at the funeral home in Selmer.  And from those fateful words, the story began to unfold.

The torrential rains of the night before had created the perfect storm (literally), generating conditions that led to a flash flood and the eventual devastation of downtown Selmer.  Between 20 inches and two feet of water had entered the lower level of the building, flooding the arrangement and selection rooms, the lounge and preparation room, some offices, and the garage.  The newest hearse was parked in that garage . . . in two feet of water.  The second hearse was parked in the back lot . . . in two feet of water.  The vault storage building at the edge of the asphalt was flooded.  The metal caskets in the selection room were floating.  The wood caskets sank.

I drove over to document the devastation for posterity—and Facebook.  You’ll see more pictures tomorrow night—with explanations, so please don’t get ahead of me.  And while I was standing on the next to the last step of the stairs that lead from the foyer to the lower level (on that particular step because the first one was still under water) a tiny little fish swam over, skirted the wood tread, and scurried back out into the murky depths.  There’s no tellin’ what they’ll find when the water finally does recede.

Funeral homes are just like every other building in the world.  They can burn.  They can flood.  They can be destroyed by tornadoes and hurricanes.  And every bit of that has happened to funeral facilities all across the state and the nation at one time or another.  Sometimes, the destruction is so great the directors can no longer serve the families who might call on them.  And sometimes, like now, the damage is a terrible inconvenience, but it’s an inconvenience that’s manageable.

Fortunately, within a 30 minute drive, the Selmer staff has access to three preparation rooms and several hearses that can be shared.  Fortunately, our primary casket supplier has electronic methods through which caskets can be chosen by families, and a warehouse close by that serves our firms plus much of west Tennessee, north Alabama, and north Mississippi.  And fortunately, there are good people who are ready and willing to help with the clean-up . . . and patient families who understand the circumstances.  So, although it will not be as easily done, the employees in Selmer will be able to continue serving the families of that community.

And now, we wait.  We wait for the rain to stop.  We wait for the water to recede.  We wait for the clean-up professionals to do their thing and the nice repair people to do theirs.  In the meantime, in spite of Mother Nature’s best efforts, we’re still here.  The good people of McNairy County have supported us throughout the years and that support . . . and those friendships . . . are what make times like these bearable—and us even more determined to be there for them.

But we had such high hopes for July . . .

About the author:  Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926.  She has been employed at Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 40 years and currently serves as the manager there.  Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone, and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.

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