There is just over a month to go until the fifth anniversary of Hurricane Katrina.

My, how time has passed quickly and yet moved so slowly.

It was a storm like no other, a period of time like no other. In even the best of circumstances for those of us who lived it, it was miserable.

Plain and simple.

Few things can really bring life to a standstill. But Katrina bore a wrath like few had ever seen. Indeed, for at least a time five years ago, life stood still.

The wind. Trees snapped like toothpicks. Pines, oaks, cypress, it didn’t matter. Katrina had no favorites.

The rain. The drops were piercing as they moved from one side to another. Eventually, they hit the ground. So many raindrops hit the ground.

And finally, the wind died down. The rain subsided. Another hurricane had blown through, and again, we’d survived.

But at the very moment I opened the door of my parents’ home in Bogalusa, stepped outside and really saw my surroundings, I was sure life as I’d known it would never be quite the same.

I had no idea.

I didn’t know Slidell was under water. I didn’t know St. Bernard and Plaquemines parishes were, either. I had no idea that even though the storm had passed, New Orleans hadn’t yet endured the worst.

I didn’t even know what I’d find when I was finally able to reach my own home in Covington.

Some people remember where they were when Kennedy was shot. Others can tell you where they were when Pearl Harbor was attacked. Everyone of my generation remembers where they were when terrorists flew a plane into the Twin Towers and the Pentagon.

And I, like all my south Louisiana family, can tell you all about Aug. 29, 2005.

What are your memories?

I posted a similar question on my Facebook page not too long ago, and it solicited some responses that got me to thinking about how we could tell the story five years later.

One friend wrote: “I went though Hurricane Audrey in 1957, and my entire generation defined our lives as “Before Audrey or After Audrey.” Now it’s “Before Katrina or After Katrina.” Life goes on even though things are different…”

Another, a local sheriff’s deputy, wrote: “The hardest thing about Katrina is seeing everybody leave and you gotta stay behind not knowing if you will live or die. You kiss your family goodbye not knowing if this is the last time. You try to pack memories, elevate furniture, board up the house. You are all alone. Your daily routine is history. You can drive on I-10 and never see another vehicle. There is no rest. You are stressed!”

And in response to that, another friend wrote: “Although dealing with the aftermath of Katrina was a nightmare that I never want to experience again, there were many positives that I observed. Our neighbors and community worked together to help each other clean debris from roadways to make them passable. We would sit together at the end of a long, hot day under the nearest shade tree and TALK — something that we were too busy to do before being grounded by Katrina. We talked more and grew closer to our neighbors as we leaned on each other through the horrible crisis that we faced together.”

L’Observateur will put out a special anniversary commemorative edition on Aug. 28. And we would like to hear your stories, your thoughts on what you saw, what you endured, how your life was changed. Send us a note — drop it off, e-mail it or send it by mail — and include some thoughts along with your name and phone number.

We are also looking for pictures from the River Parishes taken before, during and after Katrina. If you have photos you’d like to share for possible publication in the special edition, give me a call or send me an e-mail, and I’ll get in touch with you.

You can also go to our Facebook page, www.facebook.com/lobservateurlaplace, and post your thoughts.

I look forward to hearing your stories.

– Sandy

Sandy Cunningham is publisher of L’Observateur. She can be reached at sandy.cunningham@ wickcommunications.com.