Our personal and business lives were devastated by the flood.

As residential landlords, my wife, Laurie, and I own four rental homes in the Taylor school district. All four took full basements and several inches of floodwater on the main floor, meaning all the electric, plumbing, heating and cooling systems needed to be replaced, as well as all the kitchen cupboards and counters, appliances and flooring.

Several members of our church family and school stopped by help “muck” out our apartments. The Red Cross stopped by with food and supplies. Bob Mickey Chrysler donated generators and fans. With the help of a mission team from Shueyville United Methodist Church, we were able to meet out goal of getting the homes cleaned up and sealed by winter.

As “landlords,” we were told we would receive zero dollars from the Federal Emergency Management Agency or any other level of government. After meeting 45 contingencies, we received a loan from the Small Business Administration. In essence, we bought all of our apartments for a second time.

So our situation changed from having a small business with equity, hoping one day to sell our properties to help support our retirement, to owing twice as much on the properties and never being able to sell them. To complicate things  further, we had to put our primary residence up as collateral to secure the SBA loan.

 We have filled out paperwork for a new state Residential Landlord Rehabilitation program that may just be the first government assistance we have secured. If we meet the qualifications, the grants would be allocated this summer.

It is said that God will never give you more than you can handle. I believe that. However, I feel we are getting really close.

The two phrases I’ve used the most this year: “These things happen” and “Onward and upward.”

10:20 a.m. June 12, my wife Lore and our son Chris were mandatorily evacuated from Park View Terrace neighborhood in Iowa City.

On June 18, I attended a meeting to figure how we might relocate programming for the University of Iowa’s School of Art and Art History, where I teach.

Some reactions to the flood were mind-numbingly dumb, while some responses were specifically intelligent, and even inspiring. The difference? Acceptance.

Mowing your yard just before mandatory evacuation vs. the foresight to mark the high water level throughout the city so as to plan for the future. I witnessed how acceptance was the best first move: It’s going to flood, and things will be a bit different for the foreseeable future, so let’s get on with it.  Acceptance: The situation is hopeless but not serious.

Post-flood ambiguity was much more challenging than building a levee around the neighborhood, so that being evacuated, for many folks, was a cakewalk compared to not knowing what came next. Dates and information are still now at least as important to recovery as bricks and mortar. With information, people tended to become helpful, allowing them a degree of control, which then promoted resiliency that benefitted others.

After contactors worked 90-hour weeks to convert a former Menards into Studio Arts, approximately 2,000 UI students began their art courses on time, Aug. 25. Now, one year after the flood that necessitated that effort, the Iowa River is lower.

These things happen.

Could I pack my lifetime of possessions into a car and evacuate in three hours?

In the two years since my husband Bill died, I felt comfort in the memories that dwelled within these walls. I had been thinking about passing these treasures on to my children. Now I had to quickly decide what to take with me and what to leave behind possibly to be consumed by floodwaters.

When the levee broke, I was in my car full of treasured possessions. Raging water engulfed the car, forcing its way inside. As water reached my rib cage, I remembered, “Fear not, for I am with three.” I calmly dialed 911, called family to say “I love you,” and escaped through a window. Rescuers saved two scrapbooks and some family portraits. I watched my car and its contents disappear underwater.

Days later, I entered my house and was devastated by the sight and smell. Floodwater destroyed everything on my main floor, including treasures saved for my children. My church for more than 50 years, St. James United Methodist, was now serving the neighborhood from a tent. I witnessed Gold’s plan as faithful volunteers from afar rebuilt my house. I experienced how it felt to be cared for instead of being the caregiver.

When I move back home, I’ll enter through my lovingly restored antique door. Everything inside has changed. Was it losses from the flood, or the flood of emotions from these experiences, that changed me forever?

God, help me make a difference in others’ lives, as so many have touched mine.

The flood changed so many lives in so many ways.

My own reflections often revolve around three vivid images that continue to play themselves over and over in my memory.

The first is of the hundreds (thousands) of people who helped us sandbag, move books and try to protect our campus. The second is of our daily “war room” meetings where we kept updated and apprised of the status of the river and planned our daily responses. And the third is of the raging river itself, first with full-grown trees traveling at high speed down the river and then of water actually flowing over the Park Road bridge and into so many of our buildings.

The images of people are those of courage, determination and, at times, exhaustion. The images of the river are of nature reclaiming what was “hers” to begin with and doing so with a forceful dignity that could not be denied.

For myself, I knew almost immediately that my priorities and goals as president had changed radically during those days of high stress and drama. Humans are highly resilient and flexible, especially in the face of extreme challenges. Good leaders are especially resilient and flexible, and I hope that when history is eventually written, that there will be more positive to have come from these challenges than we can imagine even today.

I had a very contented life, running a business, having time with family, church and friends.

Devastation changed that - 11 feet of toxic water and $1 million damage to my business.

Work and family were forced to mix. Ten people came to the house each morning to run the business out of our basement for six months. Helping at church became reversed as church and friends rushed in to aid our recovery.

My life - and the lives of thousands of others - was totally changed by the fifth worst disaster in our country’s history.

The heartache: 20 years of building a business wiped out. Not being able to escape work by having it in your basement. The apprehension on the faces of family and employees of an uncertain future.

Knowing you will never be able to repay so many people for all their kindness to the degree they deserve is so frustrating. Starting over with $900,000 of new debt completely changes your future plans.

But you never have to look far for someone who has real problems, which makes yours pale in comparison.

So, you bite the bullet, as best you can and help others.

I lend a hand as president of the Cedar Rapids Small Business Recovery Group; by co-chairing the local-option sales tax campaign; by chairing the flood subcommittee at the Chamber of Commerce.

Helping others compensates for your individual pain. I owe so many and am working hard to give something back by helping my community. Look for someone to help. You can make a difference.

I became a late-night talk show guest. Jay Leno, you ask? David Letterman? Not quite. Does Otakar Svoboda ring a bell?

It was 9 p.m. Sept. 17 when a car and driver pulled up outside our hotel in Prague, in the Czech Republic, and whisked my husband, Denny, and me through narrow, winding streets to a tall, brightly lit building topped with a neon sign heralding Czech TV 24. I was to be a guest on the national 24-hour news station’s popular program, “Current Events in Culture,” hosted by Otakar Svoboda.

We were met in an empty lobby by a producer and taken to the green room, which, by the way, was white. A girl with maroon hair and black lips dusted my nose with makeup. I was relieved by her restraint. When the host introduced himself, he surprised me by saying he had been to the museum and had fond memories of Cedar Rapids.

While video of the June flood in Cedar Rapids flashed on the screen, he looked me in the eye and asked, “What is the situation of the national museum of my countrymen?” The Czech Republic was watching.

That kind of intensity has been the story of my life since the flood.

Expectations are always high, but now we’re talking not only about survival but the need to make an even bigger impact. This tragedy has made real to me, in an even more personal way, the importance of what we do. It’s also a sleep deprivation incentive, if there ever was one. 

In those late nights, I ponder the complexities of how not to let a crisis go to waste. My community - and the world - is watching.

The flood claimed the retirement home my wife, Karen, and I had bought three years ago on Ellis Boulevard NW. It also destroyed our son’s home in Palo.

During the flood, the closest we could get to checking on our home was by walked up the hills at the back of Ellis Park Golf Course to look down on the river. We could see the enormous impact of the flood. We were devastated, and our hearts fell as we realized the blow this flood would deal our beloved city and home.

We’d put everything from our basement on tables in our garage, assuming that would be high enough to save the items. When we returned - ours was the last neighborhood cleared for entry - everything was rotted and unsalvageable.

In the house, we could see the new kitchen was gone. The water had gotten 8 feet deep on the first floor. As we walked into the dining room, I could see my wife’s body kind of jerk. There, on its back in the mud, lay the piano her father had bought her when she was 9 years old 59 years ago. She turned to me with tears running down her cheeks. Nothing had to be said. We, as a family, with daughters, sons-in-laws and grandchildren, did a circle hug. Everything was gone.

I never felt prouder than when I looked at my children, grandchildren, sons-in-law, brother-in-law and friends, seeing them plastered from head to toe in floodwater waste, helping my wife and I clean out that house.

When we were finally able to get into my son’s home near Palo, we found everything destroyed. Kevin died almost two years ago. When we entered his home after the flood, it shook my soul.

The key to peace is acceptance of life on life’s terms.

My grandparents were evacuated from their Cedar Rapids home on Wednesday, June 11, and didn’t get back to their home until June 20.

My mom got to go on a boat to rescue out cat, Cosmo. She said it was scary to be inside the house full of water. The man who went with her found Cosmo under a bed upstairs.

You cannot believe the way the house looked when I finally got to see it. We were all speechless. I was shocked. My little sister cried. My grandma, my mom and aunts cried. It looked like there had been a war. It smelled really bad, and everybody wore masks.

Furniture was thrown everywhere, and the living room TV was thrown forward and shattered. The refrigerator was tipped sideways. I looked around and saw many of my things covered in black mud. They said it was too hard to save anything. My skateboard, fishing pole, movies, clothes and pictures were all piled in front of the house by the street, along with the rest of the memories of my grandparents’ house.

I was very sad. People were walking around everywhere talking to neighbors. They were all sad. They hugged and cried. People who did not live by my grandma’s house would drive by the houses and point and shake their heads or take pictures. I guess they wanted to remember. I will never forget.

My grandpa and uncles have been working really hard on the house every day. They ripped all the walls out. I got to help. Now they have a new house inside. I cannot wait to get back to their house.

There will always be floods, hurricanes, tornadoes and other natural disasters. I only hope that I will never see another one in my lifetime like the flood I saw when I was 10.