I grew up in Agawam, a quiet family suburb outside the busy, gritty city. While none of my friends were directly affected, reports of downed trees, overturned cars, blocked roads and blown-out windows were sobering. Someone I knew from high school's grandmother lost her home. Another lost his business. Another couldn't make it back inside her car before the tornado hit, and her family couldn't locate her for hours. A former coworker watched from office windows downtown as the black cloud came through.
When I was a young working gal, I drove across these bridges almost every day:
Most unnerving was the news that our family's favorite restaurant on Main Street-- Red Rose-- had been blown to bits, either by the passing funnel cloud or the ensuing ruptured gas line. My thoughts flew to our former neighbors, whose entire family still runs the restaurant, and selfishly, how we would never again enjoy that pizza, which we still had delivered by a local college student every few months. Thankfully, once the dust settled, damage was not severe. They reopened a few days later, sending 25 pizzas to the local shelter.
My heart goes out to those hit so hard and fast by the storm. While these kinds of storms happen more often that I may realize, it is sobering when it happens so close to home; moreover, where I used to call home.
Ironically, my son asked me about tornadoes after hearing the news of the devastating storms that hit the Midwest and South so, so hard. He was worried one may come our way. I explained that while it sometimes happens, like the one that hit Windsor Locks when I was 9, tornadoes rarely, almost never, come to Massachusetts.
But when they do, we never forget them.
No comments:
Post a Comment