I have got to take a break from obsessing about Hurricane Katrina victims, even though it is so hard. I just really wish that I had the financial means, or any means, really, to contribute some sort of help. The only thing bugging me more than the urge to do something is the fact that I have done nothing. In one of the picture galleries I saw on the internet was a photograph of a woman and her son, who was probably 10 or 11. They had been evacuated out of New Orleans, and were in ANCHORAGE, ALASKA. First off, I think every single state should be part of the relief efforts, doing what they can to provide food, clothing, shelter, and even the hope and opportunity to begin again in a new state, if that's what evacuees so choose. However, the woman in that picture was wiping a single tear off of her cheek, and I am sure she was thinking, along with a zillion other things, "What in the HELL are we doing in ALASKA?" Not because a dang thing is wrong with that particular state, but because it has got to be surreal to go from Louisiana to Alaska in a matter of days, knowing that everything you knew about your old life is gone, and so very, very far away. I mean, this whole thing is surreal for everyone, I think, but that picture just had me entranced with wonder and grief for the pain these people and their loved ones are feeling. And... then I saw a picture of a National Guardsman carrying an M-16 with a burning building blazing in the background, a picture that looked like it was taken in war-ravaged Iraq or something, and I had to STOP. I just had to stop looking, even if only for a minute.
Tonight I am going over to my cousins' house, like I do every week, to walk their dogs for them and give them a little break as they get used to life as new parents to twins. And I am so grateful. Grateful that I get to see babies, warm in their cribs, with clean diapers and plenty of food. A beautiful home over their heads, and two healthy parents who didn't have to worry about losing each other to a watery grave. I get to see hope and promise and a limitless future in the faces of Lilia and Grayson.
And then I'll go home. And I'll watch the news. And I'll cry over the pictures, and the stories, and the loss. And hopefully, I'll figure out something, anything, to contribute to this whole damn mess.
Trying to take the advice scrawled across my coffee cup and "Love the moment"...
4 comments:
The only thing I can contribute is my prayers, try that. It doesn't seem like much, but, all in all, it's worth more than words themselves.
Not much that any of us can do. We made some donations to the Red Cross and the Salvation Army the other night and they were very thankful but what we donated seemed insignificant and like you, I wished we could have done more.
I know how you guys feel; it's hard to help when you don't have mucn in the way of doing so, but hey, prayers and donations to the Red Cross seem like a great start to me.
I'm in the same boat as far as financial means. If I didn't have the kids here, I'd be volunteering to go down there, but I have to keep my little ones first and foremost. Every little bit helps, including the prayers.~L.
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