 Left Foot, Right Foot |
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It's hard to know where to start. Thinking about the news and the big picture and all of the people still suffering so horribly, stranded and hot and sick and oh yeah, dying, is too much so I focus on the small picture and how people are trying so hard to help in small ways. Friends have shown up with crawfish etoufee and garlic bread and clothes and hot tea and iced tea and jugs of water and sodas and clothes. I'm told that cosmetic gift packages and clothes and toiletries and books and lord knows what else are on the way thanks to the efforts of girlfriends near and far. I hope to somehow get them to people who need them. My boss sent over her tree man who is tackling the fallen tree with vigor and panache. My friends' husbands came over with a chainsaw to get the branches off the roof before the tree man even showed up. My friend's husband called his childhood friend, the roofer, who arrived with six roofer friends within five minutes and fixed the roof within an hour. People are just trying to help. The situation is so royally fucked up in the city that I cannot even fully digest it; it makes me feel like I am losing my mind. I've talked to Al, who knows a thing or two about loss, a little bit and hope to cling to what she graciously shared with a vise grip. I hope I can be what they need, what he needs. I do not know how long they will be in this little house, maybe weeks, maybe months. As I have written before, Anne Lamott said to survive the end of the world, it's left foot, right foot, left foot, breathe; right foot, left foot, right foot, breathe. If I can help in any way to help them keep putting one foot in front of the other, I will do it for as long as it's needed. I will lie on the floor and pick their feet up with my bare hands if I have to. I can't think of the horrors beyond this little space we are creating because I can't. I cannot. I can't because then I fill up with rage towards the president and his administration and my chest quakes with the magnitude of the tragedy and how widespread and incalculable it is. Maybe I will be able to soon but not now. Every night I am grateful to fall asleep next to him and to wake up with him safe at my side. The woman staying here has offered to take the dogs on a long walk every day. I said of course. They will love it. I can only tell my story here because their story is not mine to tell; his story is not mine to tell. I can just say that I will fight to the death to keep cookies in the kitchen, the cats' claws from puncturing the air mattress, good coffee in the pot, the shower drain unclogged, the air conditioner blasting, and the toilet seats clean. I cannot for one moment imagine what they are going through and we are just going to have our little commune and be grateful to be safe and alive and unharmed and out of that godforsaken hellhole that I know will be a beautiful vibrant alive magical dirty crazy wonderful city again. I hope, I hope.
About this time in ...
© Copyright 2005 elb |
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