| Jan 22, 2010
She is 14 years old. Beautiful. The horror of the last week stored within her heart, she is unable to let it out, unable to understand, unable to accept that only she and her sister remain--the rest gone, lost in the quake.
She is 14 years old. We brought her into surgery to clean her wounds, to try and close the deep cuts that had torn her apart. As she began to awaken, all of the pain began to pour out, to be released by the medicine that had been placed into her vein. "Mama, mama, mama....Jesus, I wait for you, Jesus, I am here, Jesus help your child---you are all I have left--please help me, please help me, please help me..".over and over she cried these words as we stood there, trying to help, trying to comfort her, yet unable to remove the horror, the pain. Nowhere to go, no one to go to.
What will happen to these children? They are only two--- two of the thousands who share the same story. What will happen to those children? Lives, dreams shattered everywhere, everywhere, not stopping as story after story breaks my heart.
The sadness reflected from the eyes of all these people, each so hopeless, so broken--that is something I shall carry with me always. I cannot begin to understand, I cannot begin to truly feel the pain, the agony; the physical searing pain of horrific injuries, the deep horror of loss--hearts ripped apart, never to be fully repaired.
But all that I can do to help, I will--I have promised these people that. All that I can do to ease the suffering, in some small way, I will... I have promised them that. And as my heart breaks, and I am able to let the tears fall, I will also try to remember that, even in the deepest darkness, one cannot give up hope--for always, always, there must be hope.
And so, this night, I pray the world will remember, will not forget; will somehow help to change the horror into hope.