The reporter, Brian Thevenot, covered the storm and post-K New Orleans. I’m hoping he will have ideas on how to write this last posting. I’m desperate for closure.

He starts his seminar with photos from Katrina. His shots are oh-so-familiar -– collapsed houses, crushed cars, debris-filled streets and mold-infested interiors. But I know that snapshots don’t tell the true story. They can’t show the human turmoil or the extent of the devastation – miles and miles of destroyed lives.

To understand post-K, you have to see it for yourself. Everybody needs to view the scope of this life-changing storm. Such a hurricane could hit anywhere in the U.S., and wipe out any city. It just hit in New Orleans first. Katrina is a wake-up call.

Brian tells the group of Providence Journal reporters that every story needs to have a happy ending. We challenge him a bit. He recoils, and says that he’s not telling us it has to be hearts and flowers.

I search my brain for something that sparks the feeling of riding off into the sunset. I think of all the Disney movies I’ve ever seen. None of those endings apply here. When I think about NOLA, I get a sick feeling in my stomach like the one you have when you were a kid and viewed the death of Bambi’s mom.

I stepped into the middle of a tragic tale. When I left, nothing had changed. There were no resolutions, no improvement and no happy endings on the horizon.

I decide that ending on a happy note is out of reach for me. I can’t find one ounce of happiness in what I experienced. ``So, I’ll end it on a hopeful note,’’ I think.

There’s always hope. Nope. None of that either.

All I found were people in limbo and living at their wits’ end. They crowded into trailers as their nearly destroyed homes are put back together in what seems like slow motion. Or some are in apartments waiting to hear if their homes can be salvaged. Most have lost everything except the clothes they were wearing the day Katrina hit.

To me, the area can only be described as hell on Earth. It’s a valley of despair. It’s a place where people are waiting for our government to decide their futures. Can their homes – lives — be restored? Will it ever be what it was?

When did Katrina hit? Late August. What’s today’s date?

In the meantime, all the people in NOLA can do is work in the sweltering heat dragging their belongings to the curb for pick-up. Their memories litter the streets where their children once learned how to ride a bike.

I think about the E.C., where Mel and I toiled in the kitchen. Are they making a difference? I search for the latest news on what is going on in the camp. Perhaps I'll find a happy ending there.

E.C. is moving to Plaquemines Parish, some two hours from New Orleans. Once it's gone from St. Bernard Parish, where will the residents who are working on their homes receive sustenance, clothing and have access to e-mail?

The southern and eastern portion of Plaquemines Parish had a pre-storm population of about 16,000. So far, only 1,000 have returned. That parish suffered 27 levee breaks and 6.5 million gallons of spilled oil.

I set out on this journey to make a difference. I return feeling unsatisfied, and wishing I could have done more. I’m frustrated because so little has been done nine months later. There's no closure.

Please remember the need still exists in the Gulf Coast. And let’s not forget it any time soon.

Some additional photos: