Two things. First, tornadoes are bitches.
Second, I wasn’t sure if I should write about them and the
devastation they caused – you know, the ones that slammed into the communities
of Washington, Pekin and East Peoria last Sunday around 11 am?
Yeah, I figured you’d heard about them.
My house wasn’t hit. My kids and I and our dog were safe and
sound. I had a coworker who lost his home, and friends of friends who lost
theirs or had damage. So why do I feel so affected? Why do I feel this
overwhelming sense of – I don’t even know what to call it – sadness or guilt or
helplessness – knowing that just a few miles away there are thousands of people
literally with nothing but the clothes on their backs?
Just a few miles away. I think that’s it.
We are glued to the television, radio and internet when any
major tragedy occurs. A plane crash. A school shooting. A tsunami. Doesn’t matter what it is. If it’s sudden,
unexpected, and tragic, it catches our attention and makes us pause – for a few
hours, a few days, even a few weeks.
But this time, it hit home – even if it’s “across the river”
– in places I rarely go because I don’t know my way around to save my life. I
saw people LIKE ME with families LIKE MINE who I probably have crossed paths
with in the grocery store, or the mall, or the movie theater. Yet I’m the same,
and they are changed forever.
I just saw a video of the F4 tornado that hit Washington
taken by a man from the window of his living room. As it approaches, you can
hear his daughter screaming in the background. The video goes black as he retreats
to the basement just in time. Not 20 seconds later, he reappears to utter devastation. No walls. Just pieces
of house and home piled everywhere, blowing in a gentle breeze.
In a matter of seconds, those families’ lives were changed
forever. FOREVER. In this case, that family will always be known as “Survivors of
the 11/17/13 Washington, IL Tornadoes.” When that daughter grows up and is
asked about defining moments in her life, she will say, “I was smack in the middle
of a tornado that destroyed my house and my community.” What do you say to
that?
For those of us who were close but untouched, it’s a sense
that’s hard to describe. It’s this uneasy, helpless, guilty, almost desperate
feeling. It’s difficult to focus on work when you’re inundated with news feeds
and conversations and reports of the latest devastation information and who
needs help and where to go to give it, but since you weren’t “directly impacted”
you know you have a responsibility to move forward and help cover those who can’t
right now. You want to run to the site and help find every single lost pet and
important memento before the rains and excavators wash and haul it all away,
but you know you’d only be in the way and besides, you have your own kids to
take care of.
You want to give SOMETHING but you don’t have much – which
is why so many gave clothes. They’ll never disperse them all – they don’t need
them all – in fact they’ve asked for people to STOP donating them. But I
understand. For some, it’s all they can do.
You want to donate money so you give what you can, knowing
it’s just a drop in the bucket. You’re desperate to help in some way. Some
offer their houses or rental properties. Some welcome displaced pets into their
homes. Businesses offer free products or services or discounts – I truly
believe – out of the goodness of their hearts and because they can. Photographers
offer free portrait sessions to families who have lost all photos. Restaurants
donate portions of their proceeds or offer food to victims and workers. Me? I
tried to help raise money. I made a couple of blankets for a displaced coworker’s
children. I tried to share information as it came in. Doesn’t seem like much.
And at the end of the day, I pull into my garage and enter
my nice, cozy house and eat a hot meal in the coziness of my kitchen and feel
just horrible for doing so. Because others so close to me can’t. And they may
not for a very long time.
The news feed on Springfield SHG's webpage |
All I can say is maybe, just maybe, when tragedies like this
happen in our community, it makes us more compassionate people overall. I see
the folks at Sacred
Heart-Griffin High School in Springfield
reach out to the Washington Panthers team and fans when they could have just
cancelled the game and gone on with their lives. I see the people of Joplin,
Missouri – yeah, everyone knows Joplin now just like they’ll know Washington –
giving advice and sending aid when they themselves are still rebuilding two
years later.
Not that I think God had a hand in this, but maybe – just maybe
– this is His way of saying, “Love one another – and don’t forget.”
The feelings will ebb. The stories will stop. The coverage
will diminish. But I hope we don’t completely lose sight of what happened here.
I hope we continue to support these
communities even after the dust settles – and I hope that it makes us more
empathetic when it happens somewhere else.
“He gives strength to
the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow
tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the
LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will
run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.” Isaiah 40: 29-31
Here are ways you CAN help (as of 11/22/13): Washington, IL Relief Information Guide