We are on a learning curve, we survivors of Katrina.

The education we are receiving is not a course we would have chosen, but when it has concluded we will hold Ph.Ds in coping - for we have no other choice but to cope.

But first we had to live, and that as determined by personal choices.

The stories of how some lived and some died will be told in the days and years ahead. These stories will be told through the generations, and they will become the lore of how that after Katrina we were forever changed.

We can see that clearly in the moment, though it is difficult to see where we may be in a week or a month, and certainly we can't see very far beyond that.

We huddled in our homes and clung to each other. We uttered prayers and begged for mercy as this storm visited its wrath upon us. It seemed almost personal as we were pounded hour after unending hour.

And God, the sound. A howling sound like some mythical creature, roared with the voice of a thousand banshees.

I hear it still. When we thought it could not become more intense, the intensity grew.

When we thought it was spent, it came again with more of its deadly capital visited upon us.

But aside from the respect, even fear, that Katrina taught us, there were positive lessons. Perhaps the chief of these was anew sense of perspective and gratefulness.

In the days since, we see these in great abundance. Thousands have lost everything, including many of my colleagues at the Sun Herald. One by one, they returned to the newspaper and told us of seeing their houses demolished. We hugged, cried with them and then went about our jobs.

Each of us has quickly learned the calculus of survival. My plight may be bad, but so many others have it worse - much worse. So even if some have lost all their worldly possessions and they are living, then they have much for which to give thanks.

The statement that has become our mantra is, "I'm still standing." So for we survivors, that is our common coda - we are still standing together.

The "stare"

In the hours after Katrina passed, I walked near the waters of the Mississippi Sound in Biloxi and Gulfport and looked at the devastation.

People walked everywhere, aimlessly, some alone, others with an arm wrapped around a friend or loved one. They all wore what I quickly observed to be the "stare." It is a look that you see sometimes in combat when a unit has suffered greatly. People just look blankly ahead but without focus. They don't appear to be looking at anything in particular.

As instructed before the storm, I wore my press pass issued by the Harrison County Emergency Management Office. I suppose the badge gave me some official, visual empowerment. A great many people asked me to help.

"Can you give us food or water? We have lost everything and we don't know where to go or what to do. We are thirsty and hungry."

I thought of Scripture. I knew what the moment called for, but I had no food or drink - only words of compassion and sorry over their loss.

They thanked me and ambled away.

Lawlessness abounds

You wonder how thin the veneer that civilization has covered us in. Almost before the storm had passed, the looters were at work. I saw it. Other reporters watched as roving bands of mostly young men ransacked stores for whiskey, beer and cigarettes, furniture, TVs and the like in open view.

The lawlessness has only increased since those first acts of looting. More stories tell of widespread vandalism and theft, and some of the thugs are brandishing guns, it is said.

There are not enough police organization to prevent the sacking of our towns.

Waiting for ... what?

Immediately, there was no gasoline or water to be hand, and the need for these and food has grown by the hour. As soon as survivors could chains-saw their way out of subdivisions or apartments, they loaded up the car and went out to see the damage and to "get stuff." Unfortunately, there was really nothing to get. But that didn't stop folks from queuing up for nothing.

There was a gas station on U.S. 49 where dozens of cars lined up for gasoline. Separately, there was a line at the front door. Like others, I stopped for gas. After a while, I asked someone if there was gas. They told me no, and furthermore, that the next closest gas station with gasoline was in Jackson. The line at the front door was not moving, and indeed I do not believe the station was actually open. When asked, "Why are we in line?" the man at the end of the line said, "I don't know." It has been said that we are a nation of sheep. I don't know if this is true, but it does seem many of us are prepared to stand in any line - if it seems that we can either be given something or can buy anything.

Chorus of discontent

Things are bad and only going to get worse here. We know that and are prepared to live with the uncomfortable state for a very long time.

Everyone wants gas and water. Neither can be found, and with each hour our personal caches are dwindling. But the needs of our people are so incredibly great as to cry out for attention.

Medical needs, food, water, gasoline - all are needed, and now. Some say our plight coupled with the unbelievable state of degradation in New Orleans represents the greatest humanitarian crisis in American history.

This has led us to profoundly understand our dependence on others. In this moment of need, we wonder, Who will help us? We are even so bold as to send a message from the lost cities of the Mississippi Coast: Will you help us?