If you were allowed to live a normal, rough-and-tumble childhood, then you probably have the scars to show for your adventures. I know I do. There’s the one on the thumb side of my right hand where I pulled the Christmas tree over on top of me and burned myself on one of those ginormous light bulbs (I think I was five at the time, although now would also be a distinct possibility). Then there’s the one on my right foot that stretches from my big toe to my ankle, compliments of playing shoe store one Sunday morning. I was being “measured” for an appropriately sized shoe when I pulled my foot away. Do you have any idea how sharp the edges of a metal tape measure are? Well, I do. And we missed church.
There’s the tiny one on my right knee (are you seeing any kind of pattern here?) from when I was running through the house and fell on a rebellious screw that was attempting to escape from the metal strip spanning the space between the living room carpet and the hallway linoleum (obviously part of an evil plot to puncture my knee). And of course, my left arm still bears the mark of a smallpox vaccination from years ago.
Scars come in many different shapes and sizes and from a variety of sources. They can be physical, like the ones I just mentioned, they can be psychological, and they can most definitely be emotional. And in the early morning hours of last Thursday, Mother Nature chose to inflict all of those on many of our communities.
In our area, McNairy County, and Selmer in particular, were hit the hardest, with winds in excess of 150 miles per hour that tore through the town and the countryside, sweeping up everything in their path and destroying what so many had worked to build. When the storm subsided and the darkness faded into dawn, the extent of the devastation was revealed . . . and the tragic loss of life that accompanied it. It will be years before the county can recover, and for those who lost the people they love, it will be a lifetime.
Those who endured that night of terror will carry those memories with them for the rest of their lives. As the county rebuilds and evidence of the devastation begins to vanish, those memories may fade somewhat. They may eventually be pushed into the farthest recesses of their minds . . . until the sky grows black in anger. Until the wind picks up and the warning sirens wail and the blinding rain begins to fall. And then it will come rushing back. They will relive every moment of that terrible night and the losses the storms brought with them. That’s why those of us who survived unscathed must be there to support those who were less fortunate, not just in the days following the storms, but in the weeks and months and years ahead. The initial traumas may heal, but the scars will always remain.
About the author: Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth-generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926 and has worked with Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 45 years. Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.
