Earthquake

When I learned Colby had passed it was as if an earthquake flattened my world. My center of balance had been yanked out from underneath me and when I fell I had no idea where I would land. I am still not sure. I have not yet found my balance. Some moments I do better than others and when a challenge, an aftershock, presents itself, all I can do is hold on. Sometimes I find myself flat on the floor again, wondering how in the world I am going to get up.

Today I have a little aftershock and I do not handle it well. Then I think of all the Haiti survivors. When they learned a loved one had passed they did not have a comfortable home to retreat to. They did not have electricity, running water, food, shelter, clean clothes, the Internet. They did not have any of the comforts of home. no photos to remember loved ones by. No momentos. No remembrances of lost loved ones. Nothing. Most do not have phones. Many learned of multiple losses when they themselves were injured. I was fortunate. I did not have the panic of trying to find a loved one who was missing. I did not have to suffer in agony while waiting for medical care. While my pain is excruciating, theirs is unimaginable. Yet they are managing to go on.

You can help ease the suffering of the people of Haiti by making a $10 donation. Just text HAITI to 90999. The charge will be added to your next phone bill. If we all sent $10, which most can afford, we can ensure that adequate medical supplies, food and water are available. While Haiti is a long way away, the next major earthquake could hit our hometowns. The next one could affect us profoundly.

Strength

I walk down a grassy path when a big, bright green, poisonous snake with a head the size of a tennis ball slithers toward me. I see the snake coming and stop. I know the snake will bite me, yet I do nothing to prevent it. And yes, the snake does bite and I feel a sharp sting on my calf. I know I should get sick quickly, but I don't. I wait . . . and wait. I prepare myself for waves of pain. When nothing comes I begin to walk again down the path.

The grassy area changes to trees and a huge dark gray dog with matted hair lunges at me. I can see that the dog is rabid, yet all I do is stop. I do nothing to prevent the bite. I feel the tug as he clamps onto my right forearm. I feel the skin break and know I should have been infected with rabies, but I sense that I have not. I wait again, wait for the dog's saliva to travel through my body, but I know in my heart that I am fine and I continue on.

The trees change to deep woods and I encounter a woman with short, straight dark hair. She is in her late thirties and dressed "business casual." I wonder how she can walk through the woods in her high heeled black boots and why the shiny black purse she wears on her shoulder doesn't catch on the tree branches. There is no grass here and all the trees appear to be dead. She approaches with a smile and I realize instantly that the gel she rubs into my dog bite is meant to finish the job. It is supposed to kill me instantly. Once more I wait for pain, dizziness, the inevitable blackout. But none of that happens. I look at the woman's wavering smile. She is not sure why the gel didn't drop me instantly. I am not sure either. Eventually I smile and brush past her, and walk further into the lifeless woods. I do not look back.

This, of course, is a dream. I speak with my counselor and we conclude that the dream is a sign of my strength. That even though I have been hit, attacked by tragedy more than once, I have the strength to walk through it. And, because I did not flinch or run away from it means I am willing and able to meet challenges head on. That I woke up before I made my way out of the woods could mean I am still dealing with my tragedy. I don't feel strong, so maybe the dream is a way for me to know I am stronger than I think I am.

Colby was not in the dream, but throughout, I had a sense he was watching from an elevated distance somewhere to my right. He watched calmly, not helping because he knew he didn't have to.