When your hometown is on the nightly news

When you work in the news business, it's not unusual for a story to come along that hits home.

But I never expected a story to hit home as literally as the recent news of the devastating floods that have ravaged Eastern Iowa for the last few days.

As many readers may know, I hail from Cedar Rapids, Iowa, which has been the epicenter of the recent floods. They say at least 24,000 residents were forced to evacuate, as more than a thousand city blocks flooded with water.

Across the country, people have watched the images out of Cedar Rapids with shock and awe. But those feelings of shock and awe have been amplified for me, for not only am I seeing sights of horrific flooding; I am seeing sights of horrific flooding in a place that I called home for more than 20 years.

When I see the images, I don't just see streets of water, or buildings that have become islands. I see places I've visited; places I know. I see the landmarks that make up the fabric of the place where I grew up, the place that will always be home.

Many may have seen the images of the Dairy Queen restaurant, with the water nearly to the roof. My sister once spent the summer working at that very Dairy Queen. I visited many times — the parking lot was the unofficial turn-around point of the local "cruising strip."

Others may have seen footage of the glitzy marquee of the historic Paramount Theater in downtown Cedar Rapids. I understand the water reached the bottom of the marquee, and the water line is still visible, even though the water has receded. That's the very same theater where I went with school groups to listen to the Cedar Rapids Symphony. In high school, I got to perform on the stage there with my show choir as part of the annual Dollars of Scholars fundraiser.

I've seen images of boats puttering around downtown, under the skywalks I strolled many times.

I've seen pictures of the boat houses from Ellis Park — I swore I would own one someday — slammed against a railroad bridge, after they came loose from their marina mooring.

And I know so many of my old haunts are heavily damaged or even destroyed — the A&W Drive-In where they used to serve root beer in frosty glass mugs; the Flamingo restaurant, where I devoured many spaghetti dinners with my family on Friday nights; The Time Check Recreation Center, where I trained for one of my first jobs, helping run a summer youth program.

I still have family and friends in the community, and many have asked if they're OK. Fortunately, everyone seems to be high and dry. But it's been close. My parents now live in a little town called Fairfax, a bedroom community just southwest of Cedar Rapids. They're miles from the flooded Cedar River, but the Prairie Creek is located only a few hundred yards through the woods behind their house.

The creek was already coming out of its banks when 6 inches of rain fell on the area last week. With the Cedar River overflowing, the creek had nowhere to drain into, so up it came. The water came within 3 feet of my parents' house before cresting at about 2 a.m. Friday. My dad had sandbagged the basement window in preparation, and my mom stayed up all night, watching the water's rise, preparing to evacuate if needed.

I thank all those who have expressed concern for my family, and have offered their thoughts and prayers for my loved ones. Luckily, it looks like they're going to be OK.

But there are thousands who will not. And so I would ask anyone who might be obliged to do so to continue sending thoughts and prayers to the people of Eastern Iowa. And anyone interested in helping in a more physical way should check out www.floodlist.com. There you will find information about the various needs of the communities and the local outreach organizations which are already hard at work.

The devastation wrought by the Flood of 2008 surpasses anything anyone who has lived in Cedar Rapids has ever dreamed of. Flood levels dwarf those of 1993, and one local leader rightfully referred to the disaster as "our Katrina." Indeed, it will take years for Cedar Rapids to recover. And even after the water recedes, the debris is removed, the horrible stench fades away and life gets back to normal, the community may never be the same.

Cedar Rapids will always be my hometown, but I fear the place I grew up may be lost forever.

NOTE: The music montage above was created by the YouTube user "semicrunchy"