Saturday, February 6, 2010
Homeward Bound
Mom is safely back in the United States and her reflections of her trip are dripping with accounts of awe and humbleness. There is nothing so thrilling as talking to a person who is betwixt and between, living an international experience on their home soil. She tasted Haiti in her mouth while standing in a pristine, peaceful, quiet US bathroom, and her sleep is taking her back to the place that changed her life in under two weeks time. She talks about her team and it feels as though our family has expanded to include each member. I can say that Susan has certainly claimed a permanent spot close to my heart, and I have not even seen her face! How hard it must be to experience something so totally physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually and then be removed from the situation. As her own reality sinks back in, undoubtedly, Mom will see Haiti in the corners of her normalcy, and it will continue to shape her interactions with the world around her. Everyone who has read this blog, thank you for taking the time to do so and for your support. I love you, and am forever shaped by the way you took time out of each day to connect with a country you may have never known, my mom's story, and my words. Mom, thank you for being brave and helping others have the chance to do the same. I love you and look forward to paying it forward and cross pollinating.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Transitions
As the immediate crisis dies down in Haiti, a thin line is being drawn between it and the harsh realities of Haitian life after an earthquake. The U.S.S. Comfort is gaining immediate global attention, and the world is forcing an exultation and paying forward sincere appreciation for those willing to assist people in need, while we at home send money, pray, and exhaust ourselves while chronically watching the news. New teams arrive in Leogane, supplies dwindle, people are still hungry, and our team is beginning to pass the medical torch to incoming medical aid. Our team is saying good-byes, and some members are preparing to leave while others remain. Some team members are home now, sending thank you emails to their new comrades and remarking about the bittersweet joy they experience when holding their families close and lying in their own bed. Haiti is as permanent an experience as a tattoo, although it's influence may not stand out in twenty years as much as green ink contrasting on aging skin.
I started crying while teaching yesterday. The weight of the earthquake and the significance of my mother hit me hard. It was not full blown sobs, just big glossy eyes and a weird crackle in my voice. Probably the most effective form of classroom management to quiet a room that I have found. The students were pretty silent for a minute after the voice cracking. But then, they started working, I told them that I was choked up because of how proud I am of my mom, and the chaos of seventh grade pre-algebra in the afternoon resumed. The lingering impact of this was evident after class. Two students collecting their materials were talking about how they think it would be so cool to get up and go to a place they never heard of so they could help people. They decided that in doing so, they could be, like, super heroes, and, like, fix people's broken legs, and, like, build cool new school buildings for kids like them. This experience has taught them that the world is bigger than themselves, and that if they ever want to make a change, other people will fundraise for them, talk about them, share their stories, and support their efforts. Today, Mom called while I was teaching the same class. I put her on speaker phone (it was the least I could do for the class that has seen my emotional depth more than they asked to) and two of my students started yelling, "You're so cool!" I guess, in a paralyzingly profound experience, that is the best way to sum up the people who are fighting to survive and supporting survivors.
The next post will be from my mom. Below is a link to a New York Times article that she was in some way connected to:
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/02/02/world/americas/02leogane.html
I started crying while teaching yesterday. The weight of the earthquake and the significance of my mother hit me hard. It was not full blown sobs, just big glossy eyes and a weird crackle in my voice. Probably the most effective form of classroom management to quiet a room that I have found. The students were pretty silent for a minute after the voice cracking. But then, they started working, I told them that I was choked up because of how proud I am of my mom, and the chaos of seventh grade pre-algebra in the afternoon resumed. The lingering impact of this was evident after class. Two students collecting their materials were talking about how they think it would be so cool to get up and go to a place they never heard of so they could help people. They decided that in doing so, they could be, like, super heroes, and, like, fix people's broken legs, and, like, build cool new school buildings for kids like them. This experience has taught them that the world is bigger than themselves, and that if they ever want to make a change, other people will fundraise for them, talk about them, share their stories, and support their efforts. Today, Mom called while I was teaching the same class. I put her on speaker phone (it was the least I could do for the class that has seen my emotional depth more than they asked to) and two of my students started yelling, "You're so cool!" I guess, in a paralyzingly profound experience, that is the best way to sum up the people who are fighting to survive and supporting survivors.
The next post will be from my mom. Below is a link to a New York Times article that she was in some way connected to:
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/02/02/world/americas/02leogane.html
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