Excuse this entry
Last year’s one-year anniversary of The Thing was, from what I remember of it, a celebration — of being back, of being alive and of pushing forward. We had survived a year and were able to say we were still here — and there were more of us still here than we thought there’d be. We were more fortunate than so many who didn’t or couldn’t or wouldn’t come back. We had a solid roof, fergodsakes. And power. And clean water. We were, in short, celebrating because we were lucky sumibitches. Because we simply could.
….but this year is different. So very different — in part because so little has changed in so many ways. And because, despite the tremendous strides that have been made on many fronts, there are still so many victims. I don’t mean just those who are still in their FEMA trailers (a little over 30,000 around this immediate region) or those who are remembering lost loved ones. I’m talking about the walking wounded — those who get up and function and try to push ahead and smile and work and resume their life as it was. But, for whatever reasons, they simply can’t. Ot at least not completely. Perhaps it’s an overdeveloped sense of empathy, maybe something they saw in the rubble, possibly a sound that takes them back — but it’s just something they just….can’t…..quite…..get past.
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