Live from Pearlington - 3

Things continue to unfold here, a tragedy of epic proportions. People struggle to deal with their emotions in an environment of complete confusion, disorientation and abject loss. Pearlington itself never did have much infrastructure ‑ no Mayor or town council, just a Supervisor reporting to the county who is busy trying to reconstruct his own life. Many residents are starting to express their dawning understanding that if it weren't for the many volunteers who have taken time out of their lives to come here and apply a wide variety of skills on their behalf, they'd be in much worse shape. None of us have done this for our own glorification, but all of us leave here knowing that we, in fact, may have received the greater gift. A young man with two children explained that, for him, the biggest benefit is in knowing that somewhere, someone cares. The fact that those people don't HAVE to care ‑ that they CHOOSE to care ‑ helps him feel safer and more valued.

Yesterday, I spent much of the day handing out trailer kits. These are sent by a church in Illinois who put together everything one would need to live inside the FEMA trailers that are showing up for housing. Each kit has almost $700.00 worth of basic goods in it and yesterday we received and distributed 80 of them. There are more coming today ‑ you do the math. This job gave me an opportunity to check the level of trauma in the locals and to offer friendship and support in an unstructured environment. Nancy is busy also out in the community and finding the children who need most to receive the Hope Chests.

It rained last night, the first time since Katrina. We awoke to a sea of mud and glad we stopped on the way and bought some rubber boots. It's been warmer at night and the day promises to dry things up pretty quickly. We went out to visit a local resident who is suffering particularly hard. Her brother came from Texas to help her on her property and was killed when an excavator backed over him. She lost her husband only a few months ago and she had a stroke herself three years ago. Sally, I'll call her, and her deceased husband Marty had built a tidy trucking business. They had nine trucks, a big repair shop, a beautiful home and extra trailers for their staff. All of it was lost to Katrina. All of it.

Sally is a hard, hard‑working Mississippi woman. But as she sobbed in my arms, she whispered in my ear: "Canada Jon, I don't think I can take any more." Her brother's two daughters came yesterday to take his ashes back to Texas for a memorial and I met with them. One is pregnant and sad her child will never see their Grand Daddy. We talked and held each other and I asked he if she had a faith that could sustain her. She stood quietly and told me, "I believe God needed an Angel in Heaven to explain how we all are suffering from Katrina and called my Daddy home." Sally and her family sustain each other and Nancy and I spent a privileged couple of hours letting them all talk and cry and show us all they'd lost. Sally won't likely rebuild the business. Marty was sick with cancer for almost three years before he died and she is not a young woman and just plain worn out. The insurance company is only offering her $1700.00 for her home, claiming it is only the soffit and facia on the house they have to cover. It's heartbreaking and it is this trauma ‑ and the trauma of dealing with FEMA ‑ that in the end will cause more Post Traumatic Stress than Katrina herself.

We hold our own tears as best we can and share from our hearts. It's all we have and all we can do. We thank God this is not our lives and wonder if we would fare as well. We smile and joke, touch and hug and do our best to let them know we love them, because we are all members of the race of humankind and we are all in this together. Many have told me they will now help others around the country when the chance comes up, because they have experienced firsthand what a helping hand from Perfect Strangers has done for them. It's a humbling act to ask for help; I know, because I've been there. I explain that their need for help matches our need to feel useful and valuable ourselves and we thank them for that chance.

Sally and her family are just one such story out of hundreds of thousands. There is much to do and so few to do it. There is no time left for judgements about where they should have chosen to live, or for averting our eyes and ears from the images and sounds of their struggle. It's real and they need our help. Someday it will be our own turn, for sooner or later we all need help. I know in my heart they would be there for us. Just ask them.