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Finally, they had each other and a place of their own.
But on June 21, just a month ago, the sky fell in on their peaceful life – literally.
A late night, severe thunderstorm – which they say spawned a tornado – ripped the home’s tar roof from the decking.
Rain doused every room and flooded the floors three inches deep.
Now, the couple and their two children must piece together their lives and home. They must rebuild knowing their insurance company won’t pay a dime.
A month ago, the family watched TV reports about an approaching storm. Then, they became the news.
The house shook. Lightning flashes filled the home with an eerie glow. They heard what sounded like a freight train.
Violent winds ripped the tar roof from the slat decking and made way for a rush of cold rainwater. Tar dripped from above.
“Every room was like a heavy rain indoors,” said Charlene Tobola, 41.
They called 911. Edna warning sirens blared.
Shaken, they fished in the dark for family photos and dry clothes. That night, they slept in an Edna motel.
Now, they sleep in a small camp trailer parked in their driveway. The home is ruined.
The mother toured the home on County Road 121 on Tuesday, pointing to where upgrades were once installed.
Walls are gutted to the studs. Kitchen cabinets are missing. Glue stains on buckled hardwoods are all that’s left of carpet.
Signs of mold are everywhere.
Tobola, who wears a Medic Alert necklace, has severe asthma and can’t live in the house as it is.
“Insurance won’t cover anything,” she said.
In 1999, RVOS Farm Mutual Insurance Company placed a restriction on the family’s coverage. The company would insure the home but not the roof.
“It’s too flat of a roof, not very pitched,” said Marvin Tobola, 50. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to say.”
Wes Jackson oversees the company’s claims department. Law restricts him from discussing clients’ policies. He agreed to speak in general terms.
“The roof may be in a condition that we may not be willing to cover. Then, we wouldn’t cover the roof or the damage occurred through the roof,” Jackson said. “I really wish it was different.”
Tony Jeter is a spokesman for the company.
“We hate to see anybody have a catastrophic event. We deal with those every day,” Jeter said. “We seek to find coverage in terms of whatever the policy will allow.”
Still, the Tobolas need a home.
Family helped to re-roof the home. The husband’s employer, Mercer Construction in Edna, lent workers to rip sheet rock from the walls and tiles from the ceiling.
A neighbor offered the camp trailer.
“We can’t afford, really, to build from the ground up,” Charlene Tobola said. “We’re trying to make ends meet.”
Monthly prescription costs, debts, past due hospital bills and the cost of living are taxing the family, especially now, she said.
Together, the parents earn an average income, the mother said.
“Any bit of help we can get,” Tobola said. “When you see our house, don’t judge it from the outside. Driving by doesn’t tell the whole story.”
Inside the home, Andrew, 8, talked about the storm.
“It’s sad losing your room in your house,” the youngest son said. “Toys and stuff. Legos.”
After volunteers gutted his room, studs revealed severe termite damage.
Days after the storm, another approached. “Is it coming back after us?” the boy said.
While the family swears a tornado smashed their home, the National Weather Service in Houston-Galveston disagrees.
“It wasn’t a tornado, but high winds,” said Richard Mosir, a weather service spokesman. “There were severe, 58-mile-per-hour winds and penny-sized hail. But no tornado warning was ever out on that storm.”
Jackson County Fire Marshal Buster Chase said the city sounded the sirens because dispatch received calls about a funnel cloud.
Sirens don’t necessarily indicate a tornado, he said.
Jackson County Sheriff A.J. “Andy” Louderback, however, said he’s convinced otherwise.
“I don’t think there’s any question it was a tornado,” Louderback said. “No one’s contested that. I’m surprised.”
It’s no surprise the mother is worried about what next to do. They’ve considered bulldozing the home.
Until a solution arises, the four family members – including Marcus, 16 – sleep in a tiny, two-bed camp trailer.