Published on November 7, 2007
Recently NPR aired a segment related to the Southern California fires. The commentator was interviewing a mother who, with her two children, evacuated their home. They were some of the fortunate ones who had about two hours notice to leave.
The mother told about the difficulty, or ease, her 9-year old son and 7-year old daughter faced when asked to pick the “most important things” to take with them.
The daughter grasped the concept immediately and set about packing her most treasured items: a select few stuffed toys, a deer bone she had found, some plastic horses she treasured. She seemed to understand on some basic level the difference between those items that could be replaced, and those that couldn’t.
The son, however, was overwhelmed by this task and after nearly an hour of wandering aimlessly around picking up this item, and that, he stopped suddenly and asked his mom, “do you mean to just let all this burn up?”
“Well, yes I guess I do,” she said.
He was stunned by this thought. Eventually he grabbed some of his clothes to take when they left.
When victims of disasters are questioned after the event they seem to fall into two categories, much like the little girl and her brother. There are survivors, and there are those that will always mourn their material losses.
We in the United States are a materialistic society. Many of us base our entire value system upon “things,” bigger, better, more things. These same people determine their sense of self-worth by the size, brand, or cost of what they own. When stripped of these accumulated trappings they just don’t know who they are. They, like the little boy, are stunned and immobile.
Survivors, like the little girl, “get it.” They will say, “I’ve got my family” or “I saved my dog and cat” or “my neighbors are all safe.” Sure, they mourn the loss of their homes or belongings, but they can get past it and move ahead. They know they are just the same with, or without, all those “things.”
So many of us here at PJC have seen the face of disaster. We are constantly vigilant during each hurricane season. Recently we witnessed the sudden violence of a tornado. But how prepared are any of us, really, to “just let it all burn?”
How big is your car? What will fit in the trunk, or the hatch? What would you take if you only had two hours to decide and knew everything you left behind would be lost forever? Will the essence of who you are fit in that car, or will you be lost along with your material goods when they are gone?