The question that visited my son and may visit yours
There’s a question that runs like contagion through
schools and neighborhoods. The
question came to my sons and may have visited
yours.
The question plagued me during my work as an ER
physician and internist. I’ve seen many innocent
people suffer, watched personally (at the bedside)
over 1,000 people die and then come home to a
house with children who that day saw only friends
with full stomachs and air-conditioned houses
cluttered with toys, to a wife who saw only friends
with new cars and stores with pretty sales people
and un-scuffed merchandise; come home to kiss
them goodnight and then lie in bed to feel the
question "why?" creep into the room and keep me
awake while others slept.
But now, after coming home from a recent trip to
Mississippi and the aftermath of hurricane Katrina
(news article about that
trip), I came home to
something different. This time, instead of finding
three sons completely content, I heard my middle
son, William, tell me of the new class mate who came
from New Orleans, who was introduced to his class,
and who cried when introduced: cried not with the
bashfulness of a school child staring at strangers but
cried from heaviness deeper and more confusing than
embarrassment.
At a time when many suffer with loss of home and
life at no fault of their own (due to natural disaster),
the following
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