Living in Tornado Alley

Well last night we got the usual dose of spring thunderstorms that hit the OK/TX/KS area every year, otherwise known as "tornado alley."
Fortunately all I wound up with was a minor roof leak in my kitchen but my next door neighbors lost the roof on their hot tub gazebo and it damaged their flowerbeds and gutters.
Every spring when severe storms approach from the southwest, it takes me back to 2 significant events that happened in my life while still living in Oklahoma; the May 3, 1999 tornado and the April 19, 1995 bombing of the Alfred Murrah building in Oklahoma City. I was involved in both.
The latter I survived by the grace of God Almighty. Had I been at my desk at the time of the blast I would not be sitting here writing this right now. The reason I include this is because the blast itself was very much like a violent flash of lightning followed within a split second by thunder so loud and vicious it shakes the foundation you are standing on and rattles everything in your cabinets. Like a bomb and earthquake combined. Only the blast was much worse. It destroyed everything around me. Nothing else does that except a tornado or hurricane.
I continue to have severe problems when faced with a situation similar to that event, and that situation is a very bad storm. The sizzle that accompanies a close lightning strike mimics the sizzle I heard of lights popping and a skylight crashing above my head, followed by the strong clap of thunder that reverberates for miles. If the lights go out at the same time, it is like I am reliving the event over and over, classic symptoms of PTSD. It's very difficult to explain this to someone who has never been through it, but I always get the obligatory nod and the usual, "I can understand."
May 3, 1999. I was working in the little town of Chickasha OK, the first stop on the F5 grand tour. Once the warnings were issued for Caddo County, I left early and was driving home and could see the storm several miles behind me in my rearview mirror forming into the behemoth that ultimately chewed up Oklahoma City. I made it to my home in Norman about the time it hit that town. It did a lot of damage to the little airport there just north of the city. Thank God it didn't hit my office because I still had co-workers there at the time.
Of course by this time every local TV channel had their copters in the air, spotters on the ground, and the usual overkill that accompanies every little fart windstorm that hits the metro area every spring. But this was no little fart. I watched in horror on the television as the monster gained strength, almost like a snowball going down a hill. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. When the core looked like it could turn east towards Norman, I grabbed my pets, got back in the car, and tried to make it to a nearby shelter (we had no basement)
Sirens went off, the whole thing. Once the all clear was given (I didn't make it to the shelter in time) I started to go back to the house but just couldn't make myself do it. The idea of being confined in my space scared the shit out of me, excuse my french. When I look back on it, that logic made no sense at all and still doesn't. I knew better!
So I drove around, doo dee doo, listening to the radio. Dumbass me right? I guess I just figured at the time I'd rather be out in the open than confined because of what happened in 95.
After about an hour or so I did go back home and turn on the TV. By this time the storm was going up the turnpike, almost a straight path, and had hit the poor town of Bridgecreek. Then it went east and crossed I35. I was so scared for my elderly father and stepmother. They had no basement either and huddled in the coat closet until it passed. They described the wind as the "worst sound in the world."
My stepbrother lost his home. They had no basement and hid in the closet under the staircase. It ripped the home right off the foundation. So lucky to be alive.
I'll never understand why Oklahoma builders can't put basements in. They claim it's the hard soil, but I think people would be willing to pay the extra money, especially custom buyers, to have that done. Now of course we have the safe rooms above ground, which is so much better than the alternative. I have decided that no house I live in from now on will have less than a safe room.
When morning came on May 4, it was like April 19 all over again. People were shell shocked and at their limits emotionally. I couldn't do anything. No sleep for days. At that point I didn't want to leave my house. I went from not wanting to be there to not wanting to leave. I cried. I paced. I tried to sleep, but couldn't. Tried to eat, but couldn't. I was numb.
Had I not already been through the bombing, I have no doubt that I would have just picked right back up and kept going. But it took me days, weeks, to wrap my mind around what had just happened to our community, 6 years after such a horrible tragic event had already wracked it.
When I heard the stories of the people that perished, it was like reliving the deaths of co-workers all over again.
I guess much of the reason I write this today is to give pause and reflect, and also to praise the meteorologist teams in Oklahoma. Oklahoma catches a lot of crap in the media and allover as "redneck country" and "what do they know, they're just dumb Okies." Well, I can assure you, jokes aside and stereotypes forgotten, Oklahoma is a great state, and her citizens are nothing short of heroes. Many more lives would have been lost on May 3 had it not been for the tireless efforts of these scientists who make it their passion and life's work to understand these storms and to make sure people stay safe.