A Different Kind of Thanksgiving

By Debra McKay, Huntsville, Alabama

"I think you should pick up Daniel from play school," my husband said to me over the phone. "There's a storm on the way."

I didn't see any signs of a storm. But since Dennis had insisted, I drove to pick up three-year-old Daniel, taking along eight-year-old Drew. By the time we got back home, 10-year-old David was doing his homework. Although the sky was gray, the weather wasn't looking all that threatening. What had Dennis been so alarmed about?

I had some phone calls to make before dinner, to remind women of a meeting at my house the next morning. As I dialed, I looked about contentedly. The antique dining table and chairs had been polished to a fine glow. I'd taken out our best china, crystal and holiday napkins, and arranged them on the orange linen tablecloth. I felt proud of our nice house and all our fine possessions. Thanksgiving was one week away. How much I had to be thankful for!

As my first call was answered, the lights began to flicker. On the other end of the line my friend said, "Debby, the storm is here. We should get off the phone." We hung up quickly, and I called the boys to help me go through the house and turn off lights and unplug appliances.

Suddenly the power went off. The house was plunged into darkness.

I took two candles from my Thanksgiving centerpiece, lit them and herded the boys into the den. But as we stepped in the doorway, both candles abruptly went out.

And then I heard a terrible roaring outside, a thumping, like a high-speed train thundering over joints in the tracks. A tornado!

"Run to the bathroom," I told the boys. "Run!"

David took off, and I stumbled after him, shoving the two younger boys ahead of me. By the time I got to the bathroom, David was already facedown in the tub. I rushed to open the window, as I'd been told to do if a tornado struck, and as I shoved it up, the wind sucked the slatted blinds completely out through the opening. Now the noise was unbearable.

Drew and Daniel had run back out into the hall in a panic. I went after them, pushed them down and threw myself over them. "Pray, kids," I cried. "Ask God to protect us."

There was a deafening explosion. My long hair was lifted upward. Pellets of some hard substance stung my body, and my mouth was filled with the taste of dirt. A strong smell of pine burned my nostrils.

And then everything was quiet. We lay there, too frightened to move, until I dared to open my eyes and look. Over my head the sky was filled with wild slices of lightning. The roof was gone.

Daniel and Drew squirmed beneath me. "Help me get up," I said, hugging them both. There were three doors just over our heads, and in a flash of lightning I saw that a big bureau from one of the bedrooms was now next to us in the hall. We kicked and dislodged the doors enough to crawl out.

"David!" I called out. "Where are you?"

No answer.

In the bathroom, all I could make out was a mound of bricks, ceiling tile and insulation. David could have been sucked out through the window just the way the blinds had been! I screamed his name.

There was a rustle, then a crash of plaster. Under all the junk moved a leg in red jogging pants. "Mom, I'm okay," a voice called.

All that remained of our house was the small uncovered space, about 8 by 10 feet, whose walls surrounded me and my children. We'd been shielded from the flying debris by the doors that had fallen over us.

Through the driving rain I could see that other houses were still standing. Electric wires hung like spiderwebs. But no one was stirring.

We picked our way through chunks of brick and pieces of wood, across the street to the home of our neighbors, the O'Donnells. With both fists I beat on the door.