Into the Breach

We are in the middle of a disaster.  Optimism is dependent upon rainfall, dykes and pumps.

It is too soon anyway, to dive for hope when many are literally marinating in uncertainty and soaked to the skin in loss and destruction.  There is much to assess and more possible wreckage in the weeks ahead. 

It is disorienting to see water as an enemy.

It is more normal not to notice it at all. To mindlessly open spigots and assume that it will flow from the taps when summoned and necessary, to hydrate, feed and cleanse us, and that it will cease to do so when we choose.

We  forget altogether that it warmed, suspended and sustained our life from the beginning and is vital that it continues to do so.

We neglect to see a threat when we ski and skate on it’s frozen form or fish in it, float on it or camp beside it.  We don’t ponder the depths and the currents when we watch the sun’s descent into it’s crease.

We use the sound of waves and rain as white noise to lull us to sleep.

We prayed for it last summer in the midst of raging fires.

We think of it as sacred when we are dipped into it to create a link with God and when it is used as a drink to remember a sacrifice that saved us.

It’s been a daily, benevolent entity to which we assume we are entitled, in control of and of which we have been unafraid.

We have seen it elsewhere, covering homes and cars and treetops and have not been frightened because we were not yet uncomfortable, threatened or wet. 

We are seeing water differently now; a surging, devastating thief, flowing and drowning and causing parts of mountains to crash onto asphalt, creating roads going nowhere.

We watch it with trepidation as it falls unrelenting from the sky, swelling rivers and crossing banks, covering land and property, breaking hearts, stealing prosperity, dreams, futures and physical connections between us. 

It’s only November.  There is more to come. 

And so, while it might be too soon for full fledged hope, looking for blessings in adversity is one of the rafts available. I know it’s simplistic, annoying even, but it helps to ease the anxiety as I listen to the torrent of rain on the metal awning outside my patio door. What is happening is devastating and costly and there will be plenty of time to armchair quarterback. It feels more helpful now to focus on the lifejackets.

Here’s what I see rising along with the water. Experts, equipment, engineers and trained responders meeting the demands of the day. Government and military support as well as local agencies building dykes, filling sandbags, rescuing those who are stranded and doing a million other things that are happening beyond our view. The good fortune to have an airport in close proximity to facilitate all of the air support needed for rescues and the movement of manpower and supplies for isolated communities. A growing tide of care and concern galvinating neighbours, families, friends, strangers and organizations to hold hands and hearts, save livestock, remove debris, begin repairs, cook meals, provide clothing, necessities, childcare and places to stay. Gratitude that there are many in this area not directly affected, so that they can offer help from a place of safety and abundance. 

A swell of compassion, bravery, generosity and sacrifice is already rolling out with the knowledge that much more will be required once recovery and restoration begins. The grief, loss and fear are real.  It’s early days but our communities are banding together to do as much as they can. I know it can’t replace what has been lost, but, in the midst of a flood, it helps to see that good hearts can swim.