August is in its last days and, by now, it should be easier.
The water would come down and tales of triumph would be the headline. We’d shrug it off as the summer of hell but then it would all go back to normal, as if we were to just clean it up like a messy spill.
But it’s not like that. Today, I stood in the driveway of a couple who ripped out their entire basement, which still has a foot of water. The river may be shrinking but ground water has its own path of deconstruction. They are both on social security. They have no idea how they will pay for this. A senator was there to offer comfort and reassurance that this is an issue in Washington, D.C. But the senator knows that our government is flat broke and assistance is not probable. There is a slight chance of FEMA money, but even then it would be the most $3,000. That doesn’t cover the cost of sandbags.
It’s the 95th day of this mess and there are still no happy stories. Still no stories of triumph. The reality is this place will never, ever be the same.