Thursday, November 24, 2011

Edge of the blank

How do you describe a city that just isn't there anymore? Where the only thing left is the very outskirts, where anyone driving through would think the city is just around the bend? 

Rikuzen-Takata is gone. Blank. For now, anyway. A young mom and her baby rushed to Grandma's up on the hill after the quake, and survived. Dad and Grandpa made it too. 

Grandma wanted us to know how unfair it is that people taking refuge with relatives don't get the same kind of assistance as those in temporary housing. Why doesn't anyone understand that maybe the families that still have a house might still need help?

But once she got that off of her chest, she went back to being the chronic helping grandma who loves to bake mini poundcakes and wants to make sure all her neighbors are fed and cared for. She'll keep an eye out for any needs in her neighborhood and let us know who needs what. 

You can take her city. You can give every member of her family close calls. You can scare her with the sight of a surge coming up the river. You can tire her out after eight months and even discourage her with the flaws in the system. 

But you can't keep her from feeding and clothing anyone she can reach. You can't erase the delight on her face when she describes how to make pumpkin bread. (Hers has roasted pumpkin seeds in it.) And her ever-so-slight nosiness may result in someone else getting help. 

Yeah, we brought things that she needed. But really, we brought ears and pure enjoyment of her grandbaby, who will be a year old next week. 

If something like that can help grandma keep going, and help find other needs here in the outskirts, I'm game. Life is hard to beat, even here. 

Mom looks sad until she talks about her baby. It took me, an outsider, an extra day after our visit before I could cry for her city. She lived it, and knows what used to be there. She still works for city hall, which has moved to a prefab building almost next door. She has a tough road ahead. 

Remember her when you pray, would you? A city worker for the remaining outskirts of a flattened city. More than that, a mom grieving for more than I can fathom. 

I know Life comes next. I have no idea what that will look like. 

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