Nov. 17 marks the sixth anniversary of a devastating tornado outbreak in the Midwest. At least 73 tornadoes peppered the region on that Sunday in 2013, and the strongest one, categorized as an EF4, touched down in Washington, Ill. In less than an hour, the tornado destroyed more than 600 homes and damaged hundreds more. More than 120 people suffered injuries, and three people died. 

The town of Washington today bears few visible scars from the devastation. Brand-new houses line the streets in several older neighborhoods, and the occasional lot seems to be missing a tree. Compared with the appearance of these neighborhoods minutes after the tornado—piles of debris, trees torn apart, houses gone—these sixth-year “scars” are unnoticeable.

But while the town looks as if it has moved on, memories of that traumatic day still make Washington’s residents cry. Some remember the difficulties of recovery both for those giving help and those receiving it, and their experiences offer lessons for towns facing tragedy.

Today, Whitworth sits at the kitchen table in his beautiful new home. It’s in the same location as the one that was totaled. The warm glow of the sun sifts through the red curtains on the sliding glass door to the back deck. It’s been a while since the sound of the air turning on in the house made him recall “the deafening sound of the tornado,” but he still holds back tears as he remembers the feeling of reality setting in after the storm. “You quickly start to realize … you’re not going to go home, you know,” says Whitworth. “Everything has been taken from you.” 

Ben Davidson, associate pastor at Washington’s Bethany Community Church, was in a church service when phones started buzzing with the tornado warning. The Bethany congregation meets in Five Points Washington, a community center less than half a mile from the path of the tornado. The churchgoers gathered in the building’s shelter that morning, praying and singing as the lights went out and the howl of the tornado crescendoed. 

Once the storm passed, the Bethany congregation acted quickly. Members went to the surrounding neighborhoods—littered with downed power lines and piles of debris, water squirting from broken pipes, and the smell of gas filling the air—and told the newly homeless to gather in the gym at the community center. “We saw people beginning to come in just with T-shirt and shorts and no shoes and their dog,” says Davidson. “That was all they had.”

Bethany members then began to make two lists: a list of homes the tornado had damaged and a list of people from the church who could house a displaced family. During the months of recovery, Bethany Community Church suspended all ministries except the Sunday morning service. The congregation used the rest of its time helping Washington residents remove debris. As other churches and community groups took on their own roles, Bethany became a hub for cleanup volunteers from across the country. 

Today, Davidson says, a group from the community still meets to plan ahead for other potential disasters. They’ve designated who will organize volunteers, donations, lodging, and food in the event of another community crisis. They’ve selected a location for the first post-disaster meeting. They’ve also printed yard signs and banners to place at community checkpoints to give people information about how to help and how to get help next time something happens. However, as Davidson acknowledges, “You can never be fully prepared.” 

LEANING BACK in the family-room couch of his rebuilt home, Dan Learned begins to choke up as he remembers the help he and his family received from their friends. Some of them, he says, were already there when they arrived at their home the day of the tornado. Carol talks for her husband as he fights back tears, and she recalls how one friend put his arm around her and said, “Let’s go in and look together.” It was a simple act but, as Carol says, “It’s kinda like maybe at a funeral: You never know what to say, but just your presence is a big deal.”

Support from friends continued to sustain them in the difficult weeks and months that followed. Family and friends helped them find temporary housing. Neighbors joined them to sort through scattered papers and bills. Friends washed their debris-littered clothes and made them meals. Some gave them money, gift cards, and handwritten notes. Others texted and called saying they were praying for them. These contributions, the Learneds say, were helpful. 

Not all help was equally helpful, though. Some well-meaning people called asking for a list of specific prayer requests. The Learneds laugh about it now, but the request was too much at the time. “I [didn’t] even have enough energy to change my clothes. I [wasn’t] going to call them back with a list,” says Dan. Some well-meaning people said unhelpful things like “at least you get a new house.” Others unaffected by the tornado saw the disaster as an opportunity to get rid of their unwanted possessions. Dan remembers one person who talked about a “bunch of junk” from his garage that he was “trying to get rid of.”

During the weeks of recovery, local churches provided necessities to families that had been affected by the tornado: food, shampoo, shoes, healthcare. Karen Frey is on staff at Grace Presbyterian Church in Peoria. Her house was not damaged, but she helped collect and organize donations for the families affected by the tornado. She and the other volunteers stored these donations in an empty storefront and called it the “free Walmart.” Local families donated clothes, toiletries, and other items for tornado victims to have. 

Some of the donations, Frey says, made the volunteers chuckle because they were obscure and unusable—like turpentine. But even some seemingly useful items, such as clothing, became a hassle. They collected so much clothing that they ran out of storage space. The most helpful items were cleaning products like laundry detergent. Things like this, Frey says, allowed tornado victims to care for the possessions they still had and find a sense of normalcy.

Frey says the tragedy has given her and others in their town a greater capacity to care for others. She says she looks at people differently now: “When you see people at Walmart or at a store or wherever you are, you don’t know what their story is and you don’t know what they’re going through.”