my heart goes

It's weird, right? To write emails and check facebook statuses and go on with the dailyness of our lives when an entire country is reeling from the destruction left by a devastating earthquake. It seems so odd to watch images of suffering and imagine all the people who might be wondering where a loved one is. I remember watching the coverage of Katrina and the tsunami, feeling the same way, though I was a bit closer to Hurricane Katrina as I had relatives who were directly impacted.

Still, I feel helpless, guilty, sad. I hope the people we've sent to aid the situation actually do some good. I hope we're all able to offer something: time, money, prayers, words, thoughts, whatever it is to show that we care about what happens to other people.

One of the things I find really interesting is that the Red Cross is taking donations via text, meaning you can send a $10 donation to the red cross by texting "haiti" to 90999 and it will be charged to your cell phone bill. I think it's a smart way to ask for donations and I'll be curious to see how many text donations they get. Musician Wyclef Jean's Haiti-focused organization, Yele is also accepting text-message donations. To donate $5, text Yele to 501501.

Oxfam International has set up an earthquake response fund. You can donate at their web site.

I'm sure there are other places to donate money and other relief efforts underway. It's going to take some time, I'm sure to really evaluate the damage.

It's time like these that I am humbled by all the goodness in my life and my heart goes out to all of those suffering during this tragedy.

As I was writing this an Emily Dickinson poem came to mind:

I measure every Grief I meet (561)
by Emily Dickinson

I measure every Grief I meet
With narrow, probing, Eyes –
I wonder if It weighs like Mine –
Or has an Easier size.

I wonder if They bore it long –
Or did it just begin –
I could not tell the Date of Mine –
It feels so old a pain –

I wonder if it hurts to live –
And if They have to try –
And whether – could They choose between –
It would not be – to die –

I note that Some – gone patient long –
At length, renew their smile –
An imitation of a Light
That has so little Oil –

I wonder if when Years have piled –
Some Thousands – on the Harm –
That hurt them early – such a lapse
Could give them any Balm –

Or would they go on aching still
Through Centuries of Nerve –
Enlightened to a larger Pain –
In Contrast with the Love –

The Grieved – are many – I am told –
There is the various Cause –
Death – is but one – and comes but once –
And only nails the eyes –

There's Grief of Want – and grief of Cold –
A sort they call "Despair" –
There's Banishment from native Eyes –
In Sight of Native Air –

And though I may not guess the kind –
Correctly – yet to me
A piercing Comfort it affords
In passing Calvary –

To note the fashions – of the Cross –
And how they're mostly worn –
Still fascinated to presume
That Some – are like My Own –