I've been reading reports about the 7.0-magnitude earthquake in Haiti yesterday and I can't even imagine the devastation that country is going through. The death and destruction there will eclipse the loss of lives and homes that we saw in the United States a few years ago after Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans.
Every time I pulled up the San Diego Union-Tribune Web site today, I saw a picture of a little Haitian boy wearing a ripped and bloody white t-shirt. He stared back at me with vacant eyes, probably because his 7- or 8-year-old mind couldn't comprehend everything that he was seeing and hearing around him.
From what I've read, most buildings in Haiti's capital city Port-Au-Prince, home to 2 million people, have collapsed. Hundreds of thousands of people are trapped inside. Many are dead or injured. Some huddled in tight spaces call out continuously for help, unaware of how extensive the damage is around them. Rescue crews probably don't know where to begin pulling back the rubble to lift people out of the wreckage.
The scene on the streets isn't much better. The lifeless bodies of women and children are laying in piles next to crumbled buildings. Mounds of dead men are covered only by sheets. Children who lost their parents must be wandering the streets trying to understand what happened. There's no one left to hold their hands or hug them so close they can't see the carnage around them and assure them that everything's going to be OK. The adults who are left have their hands full trying to rescue others and look after their own families.
That's how I imagine the fate of that little boy at the top of the newspaper's Web site today. I hope that he still has family of some kind to look out for him, but I know that with estimates of 100,000 to 500,000 dead, chances are not great that he'll see his mom or dad again.
I know I'll hug my own son tight tonight, just to let him know mommy's still here.
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