When I think about April 27, 2011, I am back in the laundry room huddled with two of my roommates, praying and trying to contact my family to tell them I love them. We had just heard what we thought was a train nearby and had rushed to the closet after seeing the gigantic tornado tearing through Alberta.

What struck me most about the event was the silence. After everything was said and done my entire complex went still. People made their way outside to talk to their neighbors and listen to car radios. As a college student I was so unprepared. There was no power, limited water and no information. The cell lines were jammed with calls, and any information you gathered was speculation at best. I just remember people walking everywhere.

That’s the moment I realized we were a part of something historically tragic, when you just see lost people wandering the streets trying to find answers.

When the National Guard came into my complex we were asked to leave. For a week there was no clean water and no electricity. I had no home. I am from Huntsville and the conditions up there were not unlike those in Tuscaloosa. I felt uprooted and hollow. I think that is why April 27 affected our state so greatly. We were unable to move on and return to normalcy. There weren’t many places in the state that had not been affected.

That day has changed me forever. It’s a silent change, though. No one outside the city of Tuscaloosa can understand how broken we are. I turn whenever I hear a train or a deep rumble. I over-prepare when I know there is bad weather coming into the area, and I have severe anxiety about storms. At any given moment I can tell you the weather forecast for every major city in Alabama.

I am so thankful that I wasn’t hurt, but it was the first time I felt how easily it could have been me. Most of all, people cannot see the pain we feel when someone belittles our tragedy, or compares us to something trivial. Things are still not normal here. There are blank expanses of land where businesses used to sit, and neighborhoods with houses caving in on themselves. If you drive down University at the right time of day, the world still looks eerie through broken trees and demolished buildings.

What I learned most from this experience is how kind people can be in the face of a tragedy. I saw so many people reach out to those affected. The toll road workers ushered cars through without charging them. Students from Auburn had to be reprimanded for trying to come help too soon after the tornadoes. Businesses that still had power opened their doors to allow people to charge their phones. Families allowed students who had been uprooted into their homes. The most impressive thing, though, was the UA student body, who had just survived one of the deadliest tornadoes in history, but still showed up on campus the next day to help the city start recovering.

Melissa Nesman is a senior majoring in management information systems.