To the nearly one million people in Louisiana without power tonight. To the countless souls in Mississippi, whose lives are going underwater. To all on the Gulf Coast, submerged in rainfall and storm surge from Hurricane Ida.
To families trapped in homes, who will be surviving on prayers, spit baths, snack crackers, and adrenaline fumes for the next several days.
To young parents who will be spending tonight reassuring anxious children that there is nothing to fear, even though they doubt their own words.
To anyone living in a flood zone.
To all whose entire lives were contained in a mobile home.
To the young man, Eric, who emailed me from Lafourche Parish, Louisiana, who is still trying to reach his sister, Sharon, but hasn’t been able to contact her.
To the hordes of families in New Orleans shotgun homes, who never wanted to imagine that something like this might happen a second time.
To anyone living in the middle of a tornado-affected region within the Southeast, who is sheltering in a walk-in
closet or a pantry right now, scrolling their phone to keep from going into shock.
And especially to the children. To all children of the Bayou State, the Magnolia State, the Camellia State, and the Sunshine State, who have been awake tonight, huddled in bathtubs alongside their sweaty siblings while 150-mph winds threatened to rip their world apart.
To the scared toddlers who are reading Golden Books, playing board games, or watching iPad movies to keep from freaking out.
To the souls in Grand Isle, Louisiana, who need rescue and don’t have phones. To people in Jefferson Parish, whose cars are flooded, overturned, crushed, demolished, or lie beneath 100-year-old pines.
To the elderly, the shut-ins, and those with mobility problems, who have been watching the Weather Channel for 24 hours with clammy hands until, boom, their world suddenly went black.
To my friend, Anderson, who emailed from…