So, it was three months ago tonight that I awaited word from my husband about how a powerful tornado had affected his hometown of Joplin, Missouri. I couldn't quite get passed the surreality of the evening. We had just been on weekend road trip and were settling back in at home. I certainly couldn't process the event from two hours away.
How does anyone process this kind of tragedy? At the time, Jeph immersed himself in everything Joplin--literally, figuratively and virtually. My mother-in-law holed up at home, and intentionally stayed away from the damaged areas. Many of our friends banded together, and kept those far away up to date on what the immediate needs of the community were, and what was happening on the ground. I blogged about what was happening and even spent a week working with the "pet public" in Joplin via the company for which I work.
People questioned what was appropriate, and when it was okay to start moving on. My brother-in-law and his fiance contemplated postponing their wedding. I watched Jeph feel angry toward people who complained about the smaller irritations of life and couldn't seem to see the forest for the trees. I felt at a loss. How do you comfort someone without encouraging them to relive the things they are trying to push out of their minds? I urged my brother-in-law to go forward with the wedding--insisting that people needed a happy event to think about in the face of all of the destruction and tragedy around them.
I felt it was important to make sure that Joplin didn't slip away into the hot summer breezes that carried away the last three months. Out of site so often really does mean out of mind. Many of us with family members from Joplin have tried to find ways to support our loved ones and the community in whatever way we can. Ex-patriots of the community have pulled together to lend support in whatever way they can. It has frequently been said that the sense of community in Joplin has been strengthened by the great loss felt by so many.
As I have written before, no photograph could ever provide the real picture of the destruction--the absolute void--that the horrific tornado left behind. The photos, videos and first-hand observations, for many, are etched into memory, and I am sure there are too many moments in which many would give anything to forget all of those images.
Three weeks ago, we attended my brother-in-law's wedding. It had been about six weeks since Jeph had last been to the Joplin area. I was curious to see what progress had been made since a friend and I had wound through what had once been neighborhoods. Jeph wasn't ready to see any of it again. For me, Joplin is like an adoptive hometown. For Jeph, every unrecognizable corner holds a memory.
For a few hours tomorrow, Jeph and many of his fellow coworkers will be working in Cunningham Park. He tells me that they will be working with rakes to clean up "micro debris." I'm sure at the site of any disaster, "micro debris" is part of any clean-up effort. As I consider the hours to be spent raking the park clean, it occurs to me that one man's "micro debris" is the piece of another man's life. Fragments of building material that once helped to make up a home now fit within the tines of a garden rake. The stuffing of some child's Teddy bear pierced by flying glass twists around the metal and will be removed by someone's gloved hand in order to be discarded. A shard of the china someone registered for as a wedding gift will klink against the inside of garbage can. This "micro debris" represents the humanity of the tragedy that should never, and can never be cleaned up.
As sure as no one with ties to Joplin can or will ever forget the nearly twenty minutes that left a path of nothingness rolling through town, there also will be moments for many years to come, where the stories and images that come flooding back leave the people of Joplin wishing they could do exactly that--forget.
A tornado tore through Joplin, leaving a giant void. A tornado also tore through the hearts of those who have called Joplin home, leaving giant holes there as well.
As the days and weeks have gone by since those fierce winds and rains ripped and pommeled people, homes and businesses, there have been moments of grief and loss renewed, but there also have been moments of hope and faith restored. As sure as homes and businesses will one day fill the emptiness of the Joplin landscape, moments of joy, happiness and new life will fill the holes left in the hearts of those who have lost so much. Those new moments will never erase the twenty minutes that ripped a town apart--just like garden rakes will never be able to gather all the pieces of lives and homes lost. But time will continue to pass, lives will be rebuilt and Joplin will be rebuilt. The memories of loss will dim, and new, brighter memories will take their place. Healing hearts will choose well what to remember and hopefully, what to forget.
http://youtu.be/-wfjPmDlCB0
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