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My heart is heavy.

On Sunday, May 22, a massive tornado put my hometown to ruins. We first heard about it from Jason's parents, during their weekly phone call. Initially, we didn't think too much about it, but then we stood frozen to the computer watching the Weather Channel streaming live. It was complete devastation. Seeing the hospital and the area surrounding it war-torn. Though we wouldn't really understand the full impact until the next morning when pictures and video were being posted online and aired on TV.

That night, Facebook was my lifeline to my friends and family back home. I kept refreshing just to check for new status updates, where each "I'm OK" was a sigh of relief. Getting in touch with my mom was almost impossible with electricity out and cellphone usage limited. Finally, talked to her at nearly midnight. That's when I found out that my sister was at work during the storm. Her car windows were busted out, but she was lucky that was the only damage she suffered. I think what struck her more than being witness to the actual storm was having to drive home through the aftermath. By the next day, I had heard from all but a couple people... and until I finally heard from them, the worry was all-consuming. Houses were gone or seriously damaged, but the people were safe. That simple fact is truly amazing when you consider that Sunday night the number of fatalities was 34 and now it's over 130, with more than 100 still missing and unaccounted for.

I feel like a piece of my history is torn away. This is the town where I grew up. I've walked those streets and hung out in those houses. I've played on those playgrounds and sat in the waiting room of that hospital. I've shopped in those stores and eaten in those restaurants. This is the town where I made lifelong friends. This is the town where I met and fell in love with my husband, whose family is rooted there. I watch mother nature's wrath on the news; Tuscaloosa, Fukushima and many others, but nothing can compare to seeing this town that I have a personal connection to in ruins. Granted, I have not always loved Joplin. Growing up there, I wanted nothing more than to escape. Escape the small town life and the small town minds. My friends who stayed, I felt sorry for them, as I considered them trapped. Now as an adult, I see the beauty in the small town and the connections it offers. And I've seen how those friends I once thought trapped have flourished and thrived and helped to make the town better. I sit here heartbroken for a city that I was once so anxious to leave... now all I want to do is go back, go back to help.

I feel so helpless sitting here just reading about it. And my day-to-day routine hasn't changed. I feel extremely conflicted for that... guilty for continuing with life as normal and relieved that I have these things to distract me from the overwhelming sadness.

I wanted to include links to some of the blog posts I've read from others about this tragedy.

My Hometown (this one was my favorite... his words expressed my feelings exactly)
Joplin Tornado
45 Seconds

Also... linking to some pictures taken by a friend of a friend. As descriptive as the pictures are... I can't imagine they even come close to the real thing. It just makes me cry.

Pictures 1
Pictures 2
Pictures 3

I would like to close on a positive. I was thinking this morning of other cities that have suffered in our history. The Great Chicago Fire of 1871, which destroyed 4 square miles of downtown Chicago, and the city came back better than ever. The Loma Prieta Earthquake of 1989 that severely damaged areas of San Francisco, and that city came back. Hurricane Katrina in 2005 threatened to wipe New Orleans off the map, but they are rebuilding and in the process of coming back. So, there is hope that Joplin can come back, too. Maybe better than before.