This morning I was listening to television news that shared some of the stories of miraculous survival: the scuba divers who felt the tsunami go right over them while they were underwater; the woman from Australia who couldn't hold on to both of her small children, so she let the five-year-old go -- and the little boy, against all odds, was able to hold on to something, and survived to be reunited with his mother. It's the only thing that makes it bearable. I don't want to think about the man whose baby was swept out of his arms by the force of the water; or the father who was grieving that he couldn't save any of his three children; the mother who lost all four of her kids; the local children who danced with glee at finding fish wriggling in the the exposed sea bottom as the trough of the tsunami came ashore, completely unaware of the danger they were in and that none of them escaped. Or the entire families where neither mother, father, or children were left alive to tell the story.
I know there has been a great outpouring of aid from people all over the Internet. This morning, my husband went to his Kiwanis meeting, and his club doubled what they usually send to the Red Cross. I don't think there's any of us, at least that can afford to have a computer, that can't spare some small amount, that we wouldn't even really miss, and could save somebody's life.
My own children are safe, and healthy -- I feel just a bit more grateful for that than usual.
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