It was Friday evening, and I was still at work, trying to finish all the things before the arrival of the weekend. The afternoon sky had been threatening, but now darkness had descended upon the world, leaving me with no visual clues as to what lay ahead. I could hear the rain. I could hear the wind. And eventually, I could hear the storm sirens as they blared their warnings. I just couldn’t understand their message; the muffled words were loud enough that I was aware of their presence yet distorted enough to leave me wondering what dire circumstances they were predicting. So I went to the office, grabbed one of the TV remotes for the lounge, and settled in to see what Mother Nature had in store for the night.
The hours that followed were horrific for so many people in our communities. A terrible night filled with devastation and destruction . . . and Death. Death that claimed nine precious souls in McNairy County. As the unpredictability of luck would have it, Savannah was shielded from the bulk of the damage. But other parts of our area were not so blessed. As families huddled in storm shelters, basements, and closets, the storm literally ripped their homes from around them, scattering debris for miles, leaving them with nothing and yet with everything . . . because their lives had been spared.
Nine people were not so fortunate that night; of those nine, eight of them were couples who died together . . . couples who had moved here from other areas of the country, particularly Florida, some of them in an ironic attempt to escape the hurricanes that seemed to annually batter their shores. One couple was on vacation, coming here to help their two friends as they worked to settle into their new community. All four died Friday night. All eight will be, or have been, returned to their previous homes . . . homes they left seeking something more than what they had, whether it was rural America or safety from the storms or just a change.
As I scrolled through Facebook, looking at the scattered belongings and shattered lives, I thought back over other years and other storms, some of which only wrought devastation, some which left Death in their wake. But each and every time, without fail, one thing stood out.
The helpers.
Sandwiched between the posts praising the miracles of survival and mourning those who were lost, were offers of help. People were asking where they could go, what they could do to help. Restaurants were carrying food and water into the carnage where volunteers and first responders were working tirelessly to rescue those who were trapped and to recover the bodies of those who died. Heavy equipment operators were offering their time and tools to do anything they possibly could—at no charge. Some churches became drop-off points for supplies to be given to anyone who was in need while others prepared hot meals for those who found themselves homeless and those who were working to provide whatever assistance they could.
The helpers. In our part of the world, in moments such as this, you will find them everywhere, with their sleeves rolled up, ready to do whatever it takes to help their neighbors—and people they’ve never seen before and will probably never see again.
Most of us have heard the quote by Fred Rogers—the one where he relays the words of wisdom his mother shared with him years ago. “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.'” And she was right, especially in our communities. Especially now. And when the world literally comes crashing down around you, what a blessing those helpers are.
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.
