When my mother called to tell me she was headed to Houston, it came of no surprise. She was in her sixties and armed with a wealth of experience in dealing with hurricanes. Having previously dealt with the likes of Hurricanes Camille and Betsy, she knew the realities that lay ahead. “I’ve got to get out of here. I cannot lift Jada and we’ll be trapped,” mom said in calm tones. Jada is wheelchair bound and not easily maneuverable; especially for my advanced age mother. So she packed a suitcase with enough clothing for a few days. She also grabbed a photo album that I’d recently sent her, documenting Joshua’s first few months. Katrina was coming and she was leaving. One would remain in infamy, the other never to return.

Next week will mark my eleventh year since moving to Houston. It bewilders me how a simple and defined plan takes different shape as time progresses. We enjoyed our time on the east coast. As Howard students, DC shaped us as we ushered into adulthood. At times it was cold and unforgiving; in other instances beaming with promotion and vibrant energy. We really came into our own in the district. Forging forward in our careers, burgeoning new homeowners and parents. However, in our early days of parenthood, we knew that this would not be where we’d settle. The conventions that we knew of childhood didn’t present themselves there. We wanted to color our children’s upbringing with a familiarity that felt good to us. That would mean a move down south to a slower pace of life. It would mean a reintroduction to backyards, walkable school routes and an immediate proximity to grandparents. My husband and I both never knew a life without our grandparents being within minutes of us and we wanted the same for our children. We watched in horror as our native city of New Orleans drowned the day after Hurricane Katrina made landfall, and the trauma that ensued in the days, weeks and months that followed. We felt helpless as our friends and families were shattered and scattered to parts unknown for shelter and respite. It was then that we knew we couldn’t stay and actively planned our move. Over the next year we sold our row house, built a new home and gathered ourselves to move across the country. With two kids and a kitty, Houston would be our newest landing pad. But not for long. Five was the magic number. Five years we were to stay. In those five years we would make honest efforts to get back to our native city of New Orleans. We’d already owned property there, and longed to be passionately involved in the rebuilding. It would never happen. Our ducks would never align and circumstances would not allow us home. Five years turn into eight. Eight years has turn into eleven, and here we are.

In these eleven years my family has thrived. On all fronts, professionally, academically, spiritually and socially they are all shooting for the moon, leaving diamonds in their wakes. While I am delighted in watching their growth, there is a big part of my spirit that struggles settling in and settling down. I wrestle with where we are truly meant to be, and if we are doing all we can to get there. In honesty, there are days that I wrestle with an unshakable restlessness. I often wonder when, if ever, there will be a comfort in calling Houston “home”.

Then this week happen. Another school shooting. Another perspective shift. Seventeen souls left and will never return to their respective homes. It’s amazing how one moment, one event can spur transformative learning. Through the grief of this moment I was able to place my anxiety over this unplanned anniversary to bed. My mother, a lifelong resident of New Orleans, never imagined that a two day vacation from the storm would result in her never returning. Much like I would’ve never imagined that my five year pass through would’ve resulted in an eleven year tenure. In reality, these eleven years have given me growth and maturity beyond what I could’ve imagined. These eleven years have connected me with some of the most nurturing souls I could ever meet. These eleven years have given me an unparalleled amount of time with my mother as my neighbor. And finally, these eleven years, in this place, has gifted my family fertile soul in which to flourish. My faith dictates that in times like these I remain still. It is in my stillness that I have found that permanence needn’t be pursued, but embraced in the presence of moments given to you…..fully and gratefully. Praying for all affected in the latest of what seems to be an unending epidemic in our nation. Praying for discernment within the powers that be that we may come together to make effective change where it is most needed; permanence in the safety of our schools, staff members, teachers and our children.