At a certain point we realized there was no one to help
This is the phrase that grabs me in a Washington Post headline Monday morning.
It is the phrase that hasn’t quite been verbalized until now. If you’re like me, you’ve spent the days since the Surfside disaster with prayers on your lips, faces of missing people on your mind, and a constant compulsion to check the news. Also with a knot in the stomach that tugs at your gut and makes you queasy but stays in the background as long as you let it.
And you want to keep it there in the background. You want to hope. You want to keep reminding yourself of those Chilean miners who survived underground and those miracle stories in Haiti, where earthquake victims were found alive more than a week after their homes collapsed upon them.
A few years ago I visited the 9/11 Memorial Museum in New York. I don’t remember all the details anymore. I do remember a few things: the concrete-color walls, the sensation of sinking lower and lower with each progressive exhibit.
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