Mixed Blessings

I've tried not to be all-consumed by the aftermath of Katrina. It's not that I don't care, but I'm just afraid of being so overwhelmed with all the images that I'll just be forced to curl up into a ball & hide.

I've been okay so far, but one image really got to me. A helicopter was lifting a man and a young girl to safety, and I noticed the man's pant leg flapping in the breeze. It looked like a grey sail against a toothpick. That's when it hit me, and I started to sob. This man had been slowly starving to death, leaving his legs the size of my wrists. Then I got angry. Very, very angry. There is no way that someone can explain to me why these people did not have every available resource at their doorstep immediately.

I don't want to turn this into something political--I think this has gone beyond a Republican vs. Democrat thing. I think that, as President, the buck stops with George. I don't care who was supposed to call who, or whether or not a State of Emergency was declared in a timely manner. I think that if you saw the images of Katrina on your TV, with all those pretty colors swirling around, you knew it was going to be a devastating storm, wherever she hit. And knowing that, plans should have been in place, so when Katrina made landfall, troops were dispatched, supplies were sent right then, rather than waiting until a phone call was made, asking for help. I see the President as being the Patriarch of our melting pot family, and I do think that it was his responsibility--not just as President, but as a citizen of this country in a position to do something--to make sure that proactive measures were taken. And he didn't.

This is America, and we're one of the richest countries in the World. We rush in to save others so quickly, and yet it seems like we've shown the world how inept we are at saving ourselves. I just think it's so sad...and everytime I close my eyes, I see that man's legs. And I try not to cry.

I am also conflicted, because I saw the storm, saw how big it was, and all I could think of was, "Please, not my family. Please miss my family." Which means that I'm wishing the storm on someone else...which makes me feel guilty (and then angry, because anger is easier to process than guilt) when I think of that man's legs.

I'm very thankful that my family is safe. I posted the below on the Goat Roast (another blog, sort of a family conglomeration of sorts) and wanted to share it with everyone:

With everything that's happened in the past couple of days, I just wanted to be thankful for the little things.

I'm thankful that when I go outside, I don't see everything that I know and love completely destroyed by a force of nature greater than anything I could have ever imagined.

I'm thankful that I don't see devastation everywhere I look.

I'm thankful that when I turn on my faucet, clean, drinkable water comes out. In fact, it's so plentiful that I use it to water my plants outside.

I'm thankful that when I tinkle or poo, and push down on the handle, I hear a reassuring "flush" as it all washes away.

I'm thankful that I'm not crammed into a large gaming facility without air conditioning, without working toilets, with a stench that can only be described as "indescribable."

I'm thankful that I still have everything that's dear to me: photos. Jewelry. Family heirlooms. Cats. Husband. Family.

I'm thankful that I can walk outside without fear of seeing a dead body float by, or worry about contracting some disease because the water I'm wading through is hazardous.

I'm thankful that I can put gasoline in my vehicle, even if it is over $3/gallon--because I have a car. I have money. I have a gas station nearby.

I'm thankful that I have the luxury of watching the horror unfold on my comfy sofa, with my faux fur blanket around me, and a belly full of chips & salsa.

I'm thankful for my Charmin Ultra to wipe away my tears as I hear about more people dying because they needed water, food, health care; to wipe away the tears as I hear of more looting, more deaths--not because of the reasons mentioned before, but because the looters have moved beyond food and water, and have turned to guns--and have then turned on their fellow man.

I'm thankful that tonight my husband will come home, crawl in bed next to me, wrap his arms around me, stroke my hair and tell me everything will be okay. Somehow. Someway. But it will be okay.