I’ve been in an argument with myself for a few days now. Do I blog about the situation in Haiti or not? On one hand, there is so much out there, images flooding our television and computer screens, that people may not want to read another blog post, another reminder of the senselessness that is Haiti right now.
But, this is my blog, and, ultimately, I write for myself and no one else, and I need to process what I am seeing. I need to get thoughts out of my head.
And, so, I begin here.
With each day that passes, it becomes harder and harder to watch the news, read articles, and see the images coming from journalists in Haiti.
Maybe it’s because I have a very vivid imagination.
Maybe it’s because I have two babies, one who is very attached to her Mommy and Daddy . . . and one little boy who just reached the stage where he knows when we leave the room. And, he cries with that realization.
Maybe it’s because, I’m a human being, and — regardless of our differences — there is something within that connects me to those people and leaves me intensely aching and grieving for the pain and devastation in Haiti.
Maybe, it’s a combination of all three factors that leaves me in wrenching sobs each time I stop and think about the babies, toddlers, little boys and little girls of Haiti and what they have been through over the past week.
Those who were instantly killed and those who have had to cry, alone, in the dark of collapsed buildings.
Those who escaped, unscathed, but now know a world without siblings or parents.
Those who are injured . . . limbless . . . and scream the question “Why?” as they cling to anyone who comes by.
(That was a scene shown yesterday on the CBS Sunday Morning Show; a twelve year old boy, with limb and head injuries, hanging frantically on to Katie Couric, and crying “Why” over and over. Both of his parents are dead.)
I think that’s the question everyone asks in a time like this. Why?
It’s a question no one can answer.
Well, Pat Robinson claims to know the answer, but (to speak quite frankly) he’s an idiot.
All we have is an unanswerable question and a host of (almost) unanswerable problems: how do we help everyone in Haiti? How do we rescue, in time, the thousands still trapped beneath fragile buildings? How do we, quickly, bring food and water to those who have been without both for days?
I’m glad I am not responsible for trying to solve these problems — I can’t imagine the pressure felt by those who are.
Is that sentiment a cop out? Maybe. I just know I’m not cut out to take the lead in situations like that of Haiti. I cry too much.
Like last night, at one of our many (many) middle of the night nursing sessions, as Mr. Boy frantically (’cause, you know, he thought he was starving) searched for me, his little open mouth quivering, I thought about those little babies who are still trapped. In the dark, separated from the warm bodies of their mothers. Thirsty. Hungry. Scared.
I broke down — just like I am now as I revisit that image. Ugh — I can’t stop thinking about all of those children who weren’t given the mercy of death. Mercy of death? Yes, that’s what I wrote. I truly think that instantaneous death was a merciful end . . . as opposed to the frightening entrapment being experienced by those who cannot be rescued in time.
I keep hugging the Little Lady and Mr. Boy, tighter and more frequently than normal. What would I do if my babies were taken away from me — like the mother I read about last week, who waited to see if her second child would make it out of the rubble alive. Her other child’s body was on the street, covered with a sheet. She waited, tensely hanging on to the arm of her husband. Rescuers worked for hours — before turning to the waiting family with the news that her last child had just died. The broken mother dropped to the ground, screaming, “God, I can’t take anymore.”
(I wish I could find the link to the original report of this particular story, but there are so many — so many — reports now that I can’t find this one.)
I have not had such an intense reaction to any previous large tragedy. I’ve been upset and have cried over the tragedies our country and world have known, at least in my lifetime, but never have I felt such an overwhelming sense of grief.
I wish I could do more to help these people, but I can’t. I wish I knew a better way to cope and process all I have read and seen. All I am able to do, from the warm, safe comfort of my home, is to continue hugging my babies, donate any resources we have available, and pray.
To some, prayer may seem inert, but for me, it’s the most real act I can commit. It’s all I have and it’s what I turn to when I can’t make heads or tails of the world around me. And, with regard to Haiti, I’ve been praying a lot — for mercy, comfort, and aid for those still living.
And for my two babies — that they never have to experience the chaos and fear being felt in Haiti.
