Typhoons. Tornadoes. Terrorism. Turmoil. Large-scale disasters all, impacting dozens, hundreds, thousands of souls.
Life-shattering, publicly viewed, world-watched tragedies, displaying agonies of individuals: children, wives, husbands, parents, siblings, relatives, friends.
Fragmented sentences, fragmented lives.
I admit, I seldom watch the news. Not anymore. Not since my husband’s death.
It’s not that I don’t want to be informed. I do. But I’m now expertly informed in the one area the glowing rectangle cannot convey, no matter how eloquent its writers, nor inspired its photographers, nor supernal its composers, nor gifted its news gatherers and broadcasters may be:
I know how grief feels.
And when I see the shocked, huddled faces of survivors’ physical pain and discomfort …
And when I see the decimated rubble of one-time homes, hospitals, and houses of worship…
And when I see the eyes of those whose loved ones are no more…
…I see their grief, their public grief,
and I feel a degree of it.
I remember the excruciating feel of
my own, private anguish.
Large-scale grief-events require large-scale generosity and cooperation (to rebuild community infrastructure and provide day-to-day resources for residents to live on). They also require one-on-one generosity and compassion (to refashion–not rebuild–individual survivors’ lives).
Please, as much as you are able, help.
Donate time, money, or expertise. Give a little or give a lot, but please also give from your heart. Though emergencies have an impact on everyone, with Children’s Grief Awareness Day coming this week, please consider the affected children’s needs, too. Already grieving children (and parents) not directly touched by today’s tragedies will nevertheless feel for–and with–those who are.