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But, the ones I did hear while I was here were a mixture of heartbreak, inspiration and courage.

On my first day, I met a family who owned a Cajun seafood restaurant. They were horrified that people had stopped ordering their signature dish of Gulf shrimp.

I met a fifth generation fishermen who started sobbing when he realised both his livelihood and the culture of fishing that was so deeply engrained in his persona, might be gone for good.

All the folks at the St Bernard Project, a charity providing counselling to fishing families, were beyond inspirational.

As were the workers at the Fort Jackson Bird Rescue Centre who had the unenviable job of cleaning hundreds of pelicans covered in oil.

It was heartbreaking to meet the co-owner of America's oldest oyster house, P&J Oysters, which was forced to close last week after 134 years of business.

And then there is the younger generation who will be instrumental in dealing with the after-effects of this oil spill for years to come.

"We have a duty to stay and rebuild Louisiana," 18-year-old Alex Ates told me. I could tell he meant it with all his heart and soul.

This oil spill isn't over yet, and that's why I'm feel guilty about leaving a community I've been welcomed with open arms to.

People here want their stories told. Every time I finished an interview, they would thank me profusely for broadcasting their stories to the world.

"Please don't forget about us," people have begged me time and time again.

I most definitely will not. I've met people with more resilience here than anywhere I've ever been.

And so, I'll echo what people here having been telling me from day one. If you want to support Louisiana, come and visit. Eat the seafood. Talk to the locals. I promise you'll be inspired.