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lovefromgirlImagine this for a minute. One day, you're out in your yard, pruning the bushes or watching your dog chase a stick. The sun is shining. Your mother-in-law is having coffee with your wife, and they're picking out wallpaper for your new baby's nursery.
72 hours later, you're huddled in a wet, smelly shelter, your bush is under six feet of water, and your dog is still missing. Your wife has the cot you were allotted, because her back's giving her hell. You don't know what kind of effect this had on her health. You've been watching CNN all night; you know there might not be anything to come home to if you ever get home. Yet you count yourself among the lucky. Your mother-in-law didn't have a car. Thanks to the huge traffic jam on the way out of town, you weren't able to get over to her house. She doesn't have a second floor. She might not have an attic.
You have your life. Beyond that, you don't know what to think.
. . .
Tonight, there are tens of thousands of people facing a long, arduous recovery process. A number of them will not have much to clean up because it's gone. Lives have been put on hold as decisions are made: what comes next? When can we start over? Will we ever be okay again?
If you have more than this hypothetical man and his equally hypothetical family, I urge you to give your non-hypothetical spare blankets, canned goods, and used clothes to your nearest disaster relief organization. Surely you've got something lying around that you can't use anymore. Clean out your garages. Think about what you might donate, because someone else could use it more than you can. In a city where even drinking water is scarce, every little bit will count. I promise you that.
We all have things to spare, especially love for our fellow man. Give what you can. It won't hurt a bit, and you may feel better about yourself in doing so.
Thank you for your time.
Lady Cat
72 hours later, you're huddled in a wet, smelly shelter, your bush is under six feet of water, and your dog is still missing. Your wife has the cot you were allotted, because her back's giving her hell. You don't know what kind of effect this had on her health. You've been watching CNN all night; you know there might not be anything to come home to if you ever get home. Yet you count yourself among the lucky. Your mother-in-law didn't have a car. Thanks to the huge traffic jam on the way out of town, you weren't able to get over to her house. She doesn't have a second floor. She might not have an attic.
You have your life. Beyond that, you don't know what to think.
. . .
Tonight, there are tens of thousands of people facing a long, arduous recovery process. A number of them will not have much to clean up because it's gone. Lives have been put on hold as decisions are made: what comes next? When can we start over? Will we ever be okay again?
If you have more than this hypothetical man and his equally hypothetical family, I urge you to give your non-hypothetical spare blankets, canned goods, and used clothes to your nearest disaster relief organization. Surely you've got something lying around that you can't use anymore. Clean out your garages. Think about what you might donate, because someone else could use it more than you can. In a city where even drinking water is scarce, every little bit will count. I promise you that.
We all have things to spare, especially love for our fellow man. Give what you can. It won't hurt a bit, and you may feel better about yourself in doing so.
Thank you for your time.
Lady Cat