
What does it mean to forget? What does it mean to remember?
We have been asked to be among the ones who do not let time or space erase memory. When the earthquake happened, we all thought to ourselves, “dear God, I will never forget what I have seen.” And now – three months later, have we? Have we done just what we thought we wouldn’t? Has our attention been drawn to the next crisis, mystery, pain?
How can humans persist in caring, in knowing, in offering compassion, in receiving it?
For our posture is not just to give, but to receive.
This is an effort of remembrance.
Three months ago to the day I stood in rubble. I held the hands of children crying because they faced a black future. I saw the hand of death extend into the hot air and pull life into the grave. I heard the persistent, faithful work of people looking for survivors amidst blocks of cement. I saw the joy of freedom when one, just one, was found alive. I passed thousands sleeping on the streets, under cables no longer carrying electricity. Lightless nights descended. I felt the terror of what could come when the earth shook beneath us, often on a daily basis. I waited in line for gas with hundreds of Haitians, vehicles stranded on the side of the road. I watched children in the sun, hundreds deep, hope for water. But what I remember the most, what doesn’t leave me, is the heart beating, raw, indescribable rhythm of beauty and pain that coexisted. Everything felt deeply real. Humanity united to love ones who were suffering, and each moment brought life altering discoverings of just that; life or, often, death.
I passed bodies on the road, I saw bodies crushed beneath buildings. I smelled death wafting through the narrow streets. I watched Haitians cover their mouths, overwhelmed by so much loss, with nowhere to go.
Often there were and are no words to describe such things. And beyond the death, between the moments of loss, I saw strength and character of such purity, the sight of something so beautiful renders
speechlessness.
This, this, is what I remember. May I someday posses a fraction of the character you have shown us, Ayiti.
// Photograph taken in Port-au-Prince, Haiti