HOPE…

the cathedral as it was

I have written and rewritten this so many times. I don’t quite know what to say. As I watch the heartbreak unfurl in Christchurch I feel truly helpless. I wish to express my sympathy & empathy even though I know that my sisters in Christchurch need much more than that right now. I’m not alone in these thoughts. Paul Holmes wrote a brilliant letter too.

I grew up (for the longest part of my childhood) in Wellington. Earthquakes were a common occurance – almost a part of life. From an early age, I was schooled to dive under a desk or run for a doorframe in the strongest part of the house or building. I remember waking one night after hearing a deep growl from the earth and then feeling the subsequent shaking that followed and rushing, with the sleep still in my eyes, to my bedroom doorframe. Where the rest of my family were standing – wild eyed – and checking on each other. We were ok. It’s just a rumble, my mother would say lightly, trying to dispel our fears. And we’d stumble back to bed.

Each earthquake was scary. Yet none of them ever matched the ones that have rocked Christchurch in the past six months. I don’t think I’ve witnessed a fraction of the destruction that Christchurch is living with now.

Hungry for information, I spent the first 48 hours glued to the internet and television watching as image after image of rubble and disaster unfurled before my eyes. I couldn’t look away. I didn’t want to look away.

I felt so depressed and sombre that I had to stop reading the twitter feed I follow and needed a break from the news outlets. I have felt so affected by what I’ve seen and heard, yet I am so many miles away. I don’t know how I’d cope if I was there. Yet if I was, I’d just have to. I think those in Christchurch are so very brave and strong. Probably much more than they realise.

I keep thinking about what I’d do if I was there. If I was walking down that street, in that building, on that bus, in a car. What would I do? How would I survive? What would my instinct be? It seems like a matter of luck – those who got by and those who didn’t. What really twists my heart is thinking about my daughter – how would I protect her?

And then there’s the footage of the families. The Manning kids who have lost their mother in the CTV building. I am haunted by their faces. What they must be going through – and so many others.

I see it, I believe it, I react to it, yet it doesn’t feel real? Why is that so? I guess we are so far removed.

I grew up believing the next big quake would be in Wellington. It doesn’t seem right that it’s in Canterbury – not that I’d wish that on anyone.

I have a dear old school friend in Christchurch who is safe and well but terrified. Her mother had surgery and is recovering but they can’t visit her in hospital. She is stoic, my friend. She won’t leave. Yet she’s battling with her reality. She is brave.

I take my hat off to the rescuers who climb into holes much smaller than I’d ever go in the desperate search for survivors.

I feel gutted about the architecture, the city’s soul that has crumbled to the ground.

I am heartened by the camaraderie of fellow New Zealanders and the messages of condolences from overseas. The many personnel who have arrived to assist in the search and rescue. I have donated money to the Red Cross and the Salvation Army. I am sending care packages to my friends.

I know that life must go on, that I should snap out of this reflection and get on with things. But I can’t. You are in my thoughts and heart Christchurch. I am so terribly sorry this has happened. Nothing else seems relevant. Hope springs eternal.

It’s funny. I googled ‘Hope’ before I wrote this and so many links were related to Christchurch. The Garden City, full of hope. We are too. We hope this doesn’t happen again. We hope you can be rebuilt as quickly as possible. We hope there are more survivors to be plucked from the rubble. We hope so much for everything to go back to normal – whatever that means now.

Kia kaha,

Tamsin xoxo