A Single Rose

I didn't actually experience Hurricane Katrina, but I wrote this in response to it and to honor those who did.

A shadowy figure walked through the graveyard. Unwilling to dwell too long, the figure quickly found the grave.
Tears welled in the his eyes as flashes of memory appeared. Oh, he could try to hold them back, but his attempts were meaningless. It couldn't be stopped.
The hurricane mercilessly destroyed the carefully-mended communities that he knew so well. He remembered, with distaste, the whirling world, picking up houses and cars and people effortlessly.

He remembered the face of the girl steadily losing her grip on the branch.
"HOLD ON, SANDRA! GRAB MY HAND!" he had yelled, fearing his voice would be lost on the wind.
Sobbing, she tried to reach, but her delicate arms were too small.

Suddenly, as fear lit up in her eyes, the force became too much for the branch she was hopelessly clutching.
"SANDRA!" he cried, but it was too late. All that remained was the whipping wind and the cruel tides.
With a flash, he was back where he had been the whole time, with her unkempt grave before him.
His tearful eyes skimmed the gravestone once again:

SANDRA REYNOLDS
1997-2005
Lost to Hurricane Katrina
We know you're in a better place now

He had never entirely let go of her, his only daughter.
As he could bear it no longer, he placed a single rose on the gravestone and hurried away.