The Whole World Is Set On Fire

Unless you've been living under a rock for the past few days, you've most likely heard of Japan.   More specifically the devastation Japan has experienced since the 9.0 magnitude earthquake that occurred a week ago today, on March 11th.  The sheer strength of the quake, the relation of the epicenter to population masses, and the shallow hypocenter all played a crucial part in the destructive outcome of the past week.  

The St. Louis Post Dispatch illustrated the magnitude of the earthquake itself in relation to other historical quakes and energy equivalents such as volcanic eruptions.  Japan's recent earthquake was the third most powerful quake in known history.  The energy released was more than the volcanic eruptions of Krakatoa and Mt. St. Helens, well above that of the Hiroshima atomic bomb (!), and far beyond the strength of an average tornado.  All of this power was unleashed on the island nation of Japan.  That was just the earthquake.

from St. Louis Post Dispatch (03.12.2011) A5

The threat to life and property continued after the shock waves ebbed.  The quake triggered a massive tsunami that wiped parts of the coast clean off the map.  Live footage is available from virtually every major news source, showing the destructive force of the tsunami.  In latter days of this ordeal, we've also learned of the growing threat of nuclear meltdown at power plants damaged by the quake and tsunami.  

While the Post's coverage of the disaster has quickly diminished from above-the fold bold priority to today's below the fold 1/5 of the spread, the disaster is far from over.  

Google maps before and after the earthquake/tsunami

Misha Collins, a noted actor and philanthropist, recently Tweeted:

What happened in Japan is killing me. So sad. Its like the apocalypse happened, but only in one country.

I couldn't have said it better myself.  We can't put this on the back burner.  This can't be another Hurricane Katrina, where we broadcast the living daylights out of the event for a period of time and then push it out of sight.  

Recently, Criminal District Court Judge Laurie White from New Orleans spoke on my campus about Katrina and the havoc is wreaked not only on the city of New Orleans, but its people, its infrastructure, and, interestingly enough, it's justice system.  It's been six years since Hurricane Katrina hit.  Judge White expressed how you could travel to New York City and asked someone there about Katrina; they might respond with "wasn't that a long time ago?"  If you went to New Orleans, however, she pointed out, you would see a vast difference in perspective.  

I fear this is bound to happen with Japan.  They aren't out of the woods yet, and even when that point comes after God only knows what else, Japan is not going to bounce back right away.  The infrastructure damage is going to take years to rebuild.  The loss of life will never be recouped.  

My hope for the U.S. is that we, as a nation, will be here to support Japan in whatever they need.  If it's foreign aid, we can provide.  If it's relief workers, we have people ready in the wings (my own friend Lakota among them).  If, barring all that, they just need people to remember that they're working to rebuild their lives, we can remember.  Always remember.  

This 4-month old baby girl was found in the ruins of her home and reunited with her parents on March 14th, she had been missing since March 11th.  It's stories like this juxtaposed by the tragedy of the loss of life that is the face of Japan right now.  We love you, Japan.       

#loveforjapan

What's Worth Living For

 I started this post a few months ago, right after the tragic Tucson, Arizona shootings.  

There are not many things that I am certain of for my future.  I don't know what it holds.  I have a skeleton of an idea of what I'd like to do and see, but ultimately I'm taking life as it comes.  One thing I've felt for a while now, almost for certain, is that I want children of my own someday.  Not every woman wants children; I have a friend who turns the other way when a bouncing gurgling baby is in the vicinity and another friend who would melt on the spot.  I'm somewhere in between, but closer to the typical mushy what-a-cute-baby type. 

I grew up in the heartland of the United States.  We were a family with two children, a dog, and a white ranch house.  My brother and I had everything we needed (and more), but I wouldn't say we were ever conceited.  I knew that bad things happened to people but I guess there was always a safe barrier, if you will, between me and them.  The people were always in a different part of the world or a different time.  I was always safe.  Then I grew up.

I don't know if this is a sign of the times, but I'm just shy of my twenty-first birthday and I've taken pause at just how frail our lives are.  The sad events of (what's now two months ago in) Tucson Arizona have me thinking.  Thinking about what kind of world I live in.  And about the world my own children will live in someday.

I find myself thinking about the life I want for my family someday.  I want to live out in the country a bit, with plenty of land to roam.  I want sweet, simple things for my children.  I want them to grow up enriched with the beauty of nature and a loving family around them.  I don't want them to have everything, but rather I want them to have more than they need.  I want them to be happy.  I want them to live long lives. 

I want a lot of the things parents like Christina Taylor Green's parents wanted for their daughter.  It's been months, as I mentioned, since the attacks in Arizona and I still feel a sense of grief for Christina's parents.  Tears come to my eyes when I recall the interview with them, when her mother described the phone call.  She immediately thought it was a car accident.  What mother expects to send her third grader to a political meeting at a local grocery store and then hear that she was shot and killed?  

Life seems so fragile.

I think about the dreams we have for our lives and for our children, and how they can be so quickly marred by grief and terror.  I think about all the things that claim people's lives, from cancer to car accidents, to natural disasters and terrorism.  And the threats are everywhere.  They're in India, Uganda, Serbia, and Guatemala.  They're in the United States, too. 


I wonder if other people my age who've known they want kids some day have been so taken aback by such horrific acts of violence that they consider not having children after all.  I have.  I think about the grief of Christina's parents.  And the grief of countless others who've seen the hopes and dreams for their children come crashing down with the smoke of a gun or the invasive cells of cancer.  And I wonder again what's worth living for. 

My simple answer is love.  It might sound cliche, but that's what I come back to again and again and I have no other way to put it.  Christina Taylor Green's parents never once said they regretted having Christina, rather they expressed that while she had a tragic beginning (she was born 9/11/01) and end to her life, the years in between were beautiful and full of love. 

One of my assorted oddities is how much movie quotes can move me.  I quote movies often, in my writing and in everyday jargon.  I have this thought on my mind about what's worth living for and a beautiful, heartfelt quote comes to my mind from Where the Heart Is (2000).  I thought I'd end on this inspiring note. 

"You tell them that our lives can change with every breath we take... and tell 'em to hold on like hell to what they've got...we've all got meanness in us, but we've got goodness too. And the only thing worth living for is the good. And that's why we've got to make sure we pass it on."

Rest in peace, Christina Taylor Green September 11, 2001 - January 8, 2011

Sincerely,

RF

Two Goodbyes

For one of the last writing exercises from my writing class this past semester, I elaborated on a prompt given in class.  Originally, we listed five goodbyes and then detailed one of them.  I went into detail two more...

Goodbye No. 1 Spring Break

Airplanes roared overhead, car breaks squealed, suitcases hit the pavement with cluncks and ca-clacks, people shouted over the din.   I hopped out of the red Grand Caravan and hauled my hopefully (fingers crossed) less than fifty pound suitcase with me.   My Uncle got out with me and gave me a farewell hug.  The usual, these weeks go by too fast, we’ll see you soon, love you.  I shouted a goodbye to Grandpa through the open slider door and he waved from the driver’s seat.

I had no sooner turned to face the sliding doors and the imminent ticketing counter when I decided that goodbye simply would not suffice.  I made the split second decision to abandon my suitcase (sorry airport security voice) and dash around the van to give my Grandpa a proper goodbye.   His hearty laugh, one that always came from deep in his belly and could fill a whole room, and no less overpower the sounds around us came through the glass before he opened the door.

“I love you Grandpa, see you this summer,” I promised as I hugged him.   I breathed in his familiar smokey scent. 
“Love you too, kiddo.”   His merry eyes were full of laughter.
That was the last hug I gave him.

Goodbye No. 2 Wednesday 30 June 2010

“Hey Grandpa, Happy Birthday!” I spoke into the phone.  His laughter filled the receiver.
“I can’t wait to see you this weekend!” I told him.
“I’m looking forward to it. So what’s the plan?”
“Mom wants to leave early on Saturday, so we should be in by eight.”
“Well I’ll see you on Sunday morning then,” he chuckled back.  This was one of our jokes.   He always went to bed around seven at night, so whenever we drove up to New York for a visit and got in past seven, we wouldn’t see him until the morning.

“Guess what?”  I told him next, “I want to get a motorcycle!”   There was that belly deep laugh again.  “Oh really?  A crotch rocket?  Why do you want one of those?”
“Because they’re awesome and bad ass,” I promptly replied.
“I suppose you’d be the first in the family to have one,” he laughed.

“On another note, Mom and I were talking the other day and it looks like I should start getting things in line for my commission next semester.”
“Oh so you decided then?”
“Yup, the plan is as soon as I graduate in ’12, I’ll be heading off to OCS in Rhode Island.   I’ll be a Navy Officer, Grandpa.”
I could just see his smile as he replied, “That’s really something.  I’m really proud of you, kiddo.”
“Thank you Grandpa, I’m proud of you too.”  I replied back, “I guess I’ll let you go then, it’s getting close to bed time, huh?”
“Absolutely,” he replied, “I’ll see you on Sunday then.”
“Alright, see you Sunday. Love you, bye.”
“Love you too, kiddo.”

Three days later, my Mom, brother and I were en route to NY when we got a call that my Grandpa had died in his sleep early that morning.   He had just turned seventy-six.

XXX

Goodbye Grandpa, I love and miss you terribly.

Love,

RF

Still in love

The countdown to Christmas is in the home stretch.  The season of joy and peace is here.  I love the Christmas radio station, the lights everywhere, and the piles of snow we've managed to retain.  I love the spirit of my childhood that delights in the traditions.  There's a reason that it's called "the most wonderful time of the year," (at the risk of being cliche).  It really is, for some.

Christmas is a time of joy, but for some it's a time of sadness too.  There are people who will be spending the holiday alone, some for the first time and some for the umpteenth time.  There are people who will be missing.  There are people for whom the holidays are only a reminder of just how hard the times have been.  

While I don't pretend to be alone or destitute, just one of the St. Louis Post Dispatch's 100 Neediest Cases is testament to that, I still have my baggage to add to the not so cheery side of the season as well.  It's been a little over five months since my angel Grandpa E's birthday weekend, since he went to sleep in his reclining chair and woke up in heaven.  Some days it feels as if it's been an eternity since I last heard his wonderful laughter, other days it feels like I just heard the news all over again.  Some days I miss him so much it hurts.  It's taken me about a week now to really begin to comprehend that we're about to face a Christmas without him.  It got worse when I went down my Christmas list and realized that I wouldn't be shopping for his present.  In a very real sense, we're all still in mourning.  The wounds are still fresh, not that I expect to ever miss him less.  

At the same time, I'm positively surrounded by love.  In a way, the trio of my mom, brother, and me have been adopted into a "family."  Last month I featured our family group in my Give Thanks series.  In short, they're a group of families from my church who we join for a weekly night of fellowship (and lots of food).  I love them dearly.  Their support over the past year has been truly a God send.  Just the other night we had our Christmas kick off sort of night, with the last of our Jesse Tree celebration and a good old game of white elephant.  At the end of every family group night, we have a group prayer which we all contribute our concerns and thanksgivings.  On this particular night there was a fairly resounding prayer of thanks for the group and how we've really become like a large (albeit slightly eccentric but nonetheless loving) family.  This really touched me, as I looked around the room at all those dear faces.  At heart I'm a family person; I come from a relatively small family and obviously my immediate family is rather fractured.  This is why I felt so touched by my family group the other night;  they've opened their hearts to the three of us and given us that love I've always wanted in a big family. 
Now before the family I'm related to gets overlooked, I cannot say I'm not loved by them.  They may be small, but they're special.  While my parents are divorced, I know they still love my brother and I.

This harsh contrast between the utter hurt of missing my dear Grandpa and the joy from the rest of my loving family is hard to take in.  In the end, it's love that binds both of these.  It's love that fills my family and it's love that makes me miss my Grandpa so much.  While it hurts, I wouldn't trade loving him for a heart that doesn't ache.  After all, in the end, I'm still in love.

Merry Christmas to all, to those who rejoice and to those who mourn.  May all find the light of love somewhere in their lives.

Signed,

RF

My dear Grandpa E, Christmas 2009