The rain came again. As if Kentucky hadn’t suffered enough, as if the land itself had been marked for hardship, the sky opened, and it poured. A month’s worth of rain in mere hours, a cruel reminder that tragedy does not check a calendar before it strikes.
And so, three years after the floods of 2022, it happened again. Water rose, homes fell. Businesses that had barely reopened from the last disaster were shuttered once more—some forever. Families already living in temporary shelters found their lives washed away a second time. And those who lost someone, well, there is no rebuilding that. As of this writing 12 souls have tragically been lost, and that number is sadly expected to climb as the waters recede.
The stories trickled in, like the first drops before the downpour. Some made it out, others stayed behind because they had no choice. And in the days after? Well the support is showing up, people who lost everything they had begin to trickle back to where their homes used to be. They help neighbors, they remove mud from businesses, and some can only mourn. Images will undoubtedly make their rounds, news stories will fade over time, but keep these people in your hearts and prayers.
In Kentucky, basketball is sacred. But even the sport that defines so much of this state was drowned out by the devastation.
When John Calipari left Kentucky, fans felt free of him. When he returned, a chorus of boos rained down on him. And yet, when it mattered, he and his wife, Ellen, looked past the past and pledged to help the present. They pledged to donate to the Kentucky Flood Relief Fund, because in moments like these, being human is more important than being a Cats fan. It just is.
It’s not about basketball. It never was. It’s about the people of Kentucky, people who have been left behind too many times, waiting for the rest of the world to remember them while struggling every day.
For those watching from dry land, it can be easy to feel helpless. But there are ways to lift up a region that has been knocked down again and again.
Because when the waters rise, it is not the scoreboard that matters, but the people standing next to us and with us. The ones who hold on, who despite losing it all reaches a helping hand out to their neighbors. The ones who lift others up when they don’t have anything left to give. The ones who remind us what it truly means to be human and to show real love.