Well I guess it's about time
that I look past the head lines and fundraisers and frantic photos
of people running, huddling and hugging
and try on this coat called empathy
that I have left hanging up for far too long.
Because while I sit and wallow in my own puddle of self-centred life,
tragedy hits a few thousand kilometers away.
And while my life deems wallowable in my mind at times,
I'm going to dare to slip back on that empathy coat
and see past the newsprint and coloured ink.
And when I dare to let my eyes penetrate,
I see the boy's expressionless face,
"Where am I going, where should I go?
Where is my Mamma and which direction should I walk?"
He is calm, perhaps frozen in the disbelief of his life that has just shattered,
that when he survives, it will be a tragic memory of confusion and pain and loss.
And when I dare to open my ears, and try to fathom what an earthquake sounds like,
I hear stillness.
Trapped.
Under the rubble, and all she can hear is water dripping, dripping, dripping
down the concrete that is lying vertical and perpendicular all around her body
as she waits
for someone to remember her.
To look, to dig, to search, to rescue her.
And when I dare to smell.
I inhale dust.
Buildings fallen, dust rising.
Dreams dashed, and dust rising.
Families destroyed... and dust rising.
Can one taste an earth quake?
Thank you World Vision.
Thank you Compassion.
Thank you UNICEF.
Thank you Samaritan's Purse.
For taking food and water.
For ensuring that physical needs are important, and that heart needs will come with time and healing.
And as I struggle with this final sense,
I try to imagine what it would be like to touch Haiti right now.
Touch the mother who could not find her daughter for 2 days, before finding her at a safe camp.
Touch the daughter who's mother held her through the dismantle of their home, whose body was protected by the woman who gave her life.
Touch the father who was gone early for work and came home to his family, gone.
Touch the brother who is left as the oldest surviver of his family, now responsible for his siblings.
Touch the family who was spared from death, and now must rebuild their life from the rubble.
And as I spout out these stories, the reality sinks in that they are indeed, REAL.
I search for context, so I might understand...
This empathetic jacket feels heavy right now,
as my heart is overwhelmed.
The irony sinks in, because as I so yearn to FEEL alive,
my neighbours are simply happy to BE alive.
Context is a rather bitter pill at times....
Hope?
Hope?
Where are you?
My heart feels void of you as I think of my brothers and sisters...
I can only hope you have taken up full residence in the heart of Haiti.
Beautiful.
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