Stories. Nightmarish, horrific stories. Some with silver linings, some with heroic spins but from the dust and rubble that is now Haiti there are stories. And images. Images beyond what my dry eyes can bear to look at.

Shielding my eyes from the photo essays, blocking my ears to the radio discussions, and tuning out the CNN TV coverage I shield myself from the heartbreaking existence of Haiti.

Or so I think. Or so I try.

I don’t need to see and hear 24 hours of heartbreak for my heart to break, thank you very much, my heart does very well on its own. Being far away from where a city crumbled to the ground doesn’t make it any less painful, for this is the kind of human anguish that cannot be denied or ignored.

I pour coffee, toss salad and wash dishes knowing that the survivors in Haiti have not eaten in a week. I do homework with my kids and lose my cool for their untidy rooms with images of Haitian women who can’t find their children’s bodies. I use a bathroom, change my clothes and go to work while images of thousands of refugees roaming in heat and dirt, with dead bodies at their feet dance in my head.

Today’s stories of the plight of the homeless, the orphaned, the broken and sick will continue to unravel as they find a way to move on in the wake of this devastation. Only, as time passes and relief funds dry up, as new disasters strike other countries and terrorism creeps into the news once again, we will not be there to pick up the pieces of their broken buildings and shattered lives. They and their stories will continue in privacy, gone from the media’s eye but not far from our minds.

I still often wonder how the survivors from 911 cope today. What has become of the families that were torn apart so suddenly and with such violence? I still try to imagine where the 1 million displaced citizens of New Orleans went 4 ½ years after Hurricane Katrina drowned the city. I puzzle over the survivors of the 2004 Indian Ocean Tsunami; how did they manage to rebuild their lives? I pray for the 2.5 million refugees in Darfur and the 400,000 victims of genocide there.  And now I must add Haiti to my list of nations of people to pray for. I will pray that each and every singular individual can found his and her road to overcoming this impossible challenge of their spirit and that they  find a  their way toward shelter and hope and a new life.

While the world has rallied with massive humanitarian response, (of which I contributed what I could) I will continue to use this devastation as a yardstick to measure all the blessings of my life. Much of my gratitude stems from knowing that disaster can strike at anytime, anywhere and anyone. What happens to ‘them over there” can just as easily happen to “us over here”.

Today, I am particularly grateful that I do not live in Haiti. I am grateful for my bed, my bathroom and that all members of my family are accounted for and safely under my wing. I am grateful for food and water and I am inspired by the rallying of organizations with their capacity to respond to those in desperate need. Pay cuts, inflation and this recessionary state our nation is wallowing in is beginning to feel rather cozy in light of the news around it. Let us all take a moment to consider that while life isn’t perfect, our  problems are small. Very, very small indeed.

Shari Reinhart