Yesterday Atlanta was shut down due to an ice storm and the fact that a million people got on the road at virtually the same time. I was one of those people. It was one of the most mentally exhausting days of my life. I have never felt so helpless. 

Here is a breakdown of how my day went: 

It started snowing around 12pm. 

At 12:30pm, a delivery driver came into work and said his truck was spinning out on the road and it was getting bad. People were getting calls from family members saying the same thing, co-workers were coming back early from lunch because the roads were slick. 

1:30pm – we made the decision to leave work and head home

3:40pm – I arrived to pick up Henry at daycare. It took me 2 hours to go 2.39 miles 

3:45pm – Henry and I leave his daycare and head out towards Old Milton Parkway. 

5:45pm – We moved 1.21 miles in 2 hours. The traffic was at a gridlock. There literally was no where to go. If cars did move, it was the ones coming off of the highway onto Old Milton or turning from other streets, basically getting in front of the cars just sitting there helplessly watching (including me). By this time, Henry has finished his movie on the iPad, had missed dinner and was freaking out. Crying, yelling, screaming. He wanted out. He needed a diaper change. He needed to run around and he needed food. 

6:00pm – My phone dies. I have no way of getting in touch with my husband or my mom, who I had been communicating with. Our last correspondence was that I would try to get to a hotel and stay there until this passed. 

6:05pm – I stop at the first hotel I see. They are booked. I start crying along with Henry in front of the hotel receptionist. I call my husband from their phone and tell him the news. I tell him I am going to keep trying. After all, I am less than 7 miles away. 

6:10pm – I get back on Old Milton and as to be expected, it’s at a standstill. I decide to turn down North Point Parkway and take Kimball Bridge. There was no one going in my direction on NPP until a little bit before the turn on Kimball. For the first time since leaving work, I feel a small ounce of hope. While waiting to turn, I jump out of the car and run to the car behind me, asking to use their phone briefly so I can contact my husband and let him know of my driving direction change (in case anything were to happen). 

6:30pm – I finally turn on Kimball Bridge and although there is traffic, we are moving slow and steady (at 4 MPH). Once I get up the hill, it is like a ghost town. There are hardly any cars on the road and I have never been happier. My poor baby has cried himself to sleep and all I can think of is getting close enough to my neighborhood so we could walk if need be. I just wanted to be home. I drive on my last and final road that my neighborhood is on, going 12 MPH since the roads are covered in ice because no cars have driven on them enough to keep them warm.  I am so tense my neck is cramping, my stomach is growling and I’ve almost peed myself (thankfully I did not!)

7:50pm – I am home. I pull in my driveway and start crying. I cannot believe what has transpired in the over 6 1/2 hours since I left work. My husband comes racing out to meet us and tells me he has never been so relieved. He had been working in another part of the city that day and got on the roads before everyone else did. It only took him 2 hours to get home and he was able to still stop at the grocery store and stock up. 

Needless to say, that day was a nightmare for us, but the anxiety I felt for all the other stranded drivers (and those with children) didn’t go away. I was up all night scrolling through Facebook and texting friends. Some had to sleep in the lobby of a hotel, some had to abandon their car and walk the rest of the way, and some didn’t get home until after 1am. My heart went out to the parents who couldn’t get to their children and had to leave them at school or daycare. Work was cancelled today, we haven’t left the house and have been watching the news all day. We are so grateful to be together and to all be safe, and are praying for those who are not.