Mother Nature is terrifying.

Living in rural Kansas, I learned in an early age what a tornado shelter was.

We lived in a trailer park in the outskirts of town, so when the sirens started whaling,

we knew the routine.

Mama grabbed the essential supplies that would start the car.

He was my job to get my two little brothers dressed and ready.

All this in less than three minutes, 30 seconds.

That's what they told us.

That's what they told me would be the safest.

Sometimes we'd have drills.

Dad'd wake us up in the middle of the night and shout that we needed to go.

Uncle Adam's house was our go to.

He's placed with just 15 minutes away.

He built a bunker there that was supposed to keep all of us safe.

I say supposed to because this was all theory until a few nights ago.

When we practiced probably a thousand times,

none of us had ever lived to the real thing.

The reality of a storm like this is nearly impossible to describe,

especially when the storm itself is not what caused the real horror to play out.

I'm hooked up to a machine now in a hospital in a county away from where I live.

I don't know if anyone in my small town is even still alive.

The reporter stands outside my door, insisting they want to talk to me.

...