By Magan Glaze

On Good Friday 2009, Randy Bennett was in his home office checking e-mail. His wife, Kathy, was in the master bedroom in the rear corner of their one-story home on Cornwall Court.

The house was quiet. Outside it was dark and raining – a typical scene for the spring. But the wind was unusual: strong and loud.

“All of a sudden we started hearing that roar that everybody talks about,” Randy says referring to the sound of a tornado.

Kathy yelled to her husband: “They say that a tornado sounds like a train. Do you think we should get in the closet,” she asked. He closed his laptop and walked down the hall hoping to get a glimpse of what was happening outside when the front window exploded. Glass blew into the home.


At the same time, the roof began to rattle – fighting gravity and the wind pressure in a tug-a-war match.

He remembered standing in shock of the events taking place before his eyes. Pink insulation swirled above his head and there was the glimpse of the sky now visible from the gigantic hole above the living room. And, of course, there was the roar.

“It’s like thunder that never breathes,” Kathy recalled.
They took cover inside a walk-in closet in the master bathroom. Rain and hail fell rapidly through the open roof. Clumps of insulation fell like pink snow. Dust from the attic filled their eyes.

“It was like slow motion,” she says.
“It was like almost you’re out of your body watching what’s going on instead of actually being there.”

The couple crawled out through a window. In a matter of minues, the Bennett’s lost everything.

A green street sign, which reads Cornwall Court and Victoria Drive, lies on the wooden fence of their new home. It, like other keepsakes from that day, is a memorial.
They are grateful for all the angels, the volunteers who came from everywhere to help them. They’re also grateful for another Angel, a Labrador mix puppy who was born April 10, 2009. She is the center of their joy and gives them peace of mind.

A home is a haven; it shelters you and makes you feel safe, the couple noted.

“It was like a friend,” Kathy said. “It saved our lives because it sheltered us that one last time.”