A few nights ago when I was watching the news with Jonathan, I imagined what I would do if I were in Japan when the tsunami hit. What would I do if I happened to be walking outside with my children and a massive wave hit, taking everything out with it, never to return? My eyes glaze over as I imagine the feeling of the wet air on my face, the wind whipping my jacket back and forth, and the sound of the speeding wind making it impossible for me to talk to my children. I hold my youngest in my arms and hold my second youngest's hand. I encourage all of them to walk faster so we can get out of this wind before disaster strikes. Then we see the humungous wave coming, so fast that there's no way that we could possibly escape. But time slows. It stops almost as my eyes dart from one child to another thinking what to do. Keep the baby and keep the hand I have. Scream in the other two's ears to hold on to eachother as tight as they could. What else could a mother do? Knowing that none of us could possibly survive being whipped around in that water, under and down and around. For who knows how long? Our bodies being slammed into underwater structures and big things that have already come loose in the disaster. There's no way! Jonathan said, "There's a chance in a million that anyone could survive being in the water."
The worst part about it all would be trying to make my children's last moments on earth not so fearful. The fear. The pain. The unknown. Being alone. A mother's hope that their child's suffering would be minimal.
Then there are those who have survived. Survived but have nothing material left. Or perhaps not even a family member left alive. What must their thoughts be?
I'm so grateful for the safety I've enjoyed and that I do enjoy every day. Someday perhaps I will be right in the middle of a natural disaster. Will I be prepared? Where will my children be? I hope that I can comfort someone in a time like that even if it isn't my own child. I hope someone else will do the same for mine.