You have most likely heard the saying: “There is a very thin line between love and hate.” But, what about this one? “There is an extremely thin line between progress and loss.”  I have been ruminating on this thought for several days, and I thought it might be worthwhile to write a weekly update in order to put this into perspective for all of us working in the recovery effort. Let me explain what I am talking about:
When I was growing up, summer days were often spent with a large number of my family, including great aunts and uncles, in my grandfather’s garden. We spent the early mornings in the field harvesting corn, purple hull peas, tomatoes, okra and whatever else was ready to be “picked.” We loaded wheel barrels full of corn and other vegetables and carted them to the HUGE oak tree on the property, under which all of the relatives began preparing the food for storage. Corn was shucked, tomatoes were peeled and readied for canning, other vegetables were shelled and washed, and many pounds were loaded into the trunks of cars! My cousins and I helped as much as we could, then we sat at picnic tables and ate watermelons and cantaloupes with our hands. There was no television under the tree, no video games or other handheld devices to distract us; just family, laughter and a lot of sweat. I was reminded of these days earlier this summer when I picked the tomatoes off of my own plants that are in pots on my back deck. It is a pitiful sight, really, when compared to the bounty I remember as a kid. When my grandparents passed away in the early 1990’s, real estate developers soon swooped in with offers of what seemed like a great deal of money for the property. The family held out for a while but, in the end, Wal-Mart took over the several acre plot that was my childhood homestead, along with several other family properties along a prime road for a strip mall. Now, the money that was given for the property is undoubtedly gone and our family is left with many memories, but very few “roots.” The loss we suffered, or at least that I suffered, was certainly not worth the gaining of a Wal-Mart shopping center. Many people enjoy shopping there, but it is very painful for me to set foot in the place. To some, progress was made with the development of the shopping area but, for me, loss is the overwhelming emotion.

The relevance of this story to our work is this: Many of our clients continue to “hold out” in order to be able to remain on their pre-Katrina property. For many, this property is their homestead. The piece of land represents where they come from, where their roots are. In the name of progress toward recovery, there are many pressures on these families to uproot –  to move into commercial parks or to sell their property because the cost of rebuilding in a “V” zone is just too high. In many instances, as case managers, our challenge is to balance the need to finish the job with the need to preserve the individual and families’ heritage. The MCMC leadership and management team understands that this line between progress and loss is indeed very thin and we are here to help you with your cases as you need us. We also continue to advocate for humane and dignified solutions for many of the obstacles we face. Your jobs are not easy, and in many cases you are on the front lines of this emotional battle that rages between all of us and your clients. I only want to tell you that I have a deep respect and admiration for your positions, and that our team will continue to fight the good fight so that we are all able to finish the job in keeping with our calling and mission to serve others. We know that you will do the same. Have a Blessed Holiday weekend!

Peace…..

Stephen P. Carr II, MA,  MFT
Program Director
Mississippi Case Management Consortium