I’ve been thinking a lot about big numbers, lately. The 6,000 that accompanied the first reports of the cyclone in Burma was something I could sort of wrap my head around. I could picture 6,000 people. I could understand that 6,000 – coming from the military government running the place – probably meant that it was a lot more. But I wasn’t sure how many more. It seems to be rising exponentially. The Red Cross’ warning of 128,000 just surpassed my imagination.
And then the earthquake in China hit, and I first heard 10,000. We’re used to big numbers in everything from China, but it was still clearly a massive event. And as that number was rising today, I was trying to fathom it. How did it compare to the events in Burma? What would it be like if it happened here in the US?
Turns out, I was reaching for the wrong end of this. All I needed to do was understand a very small number. In this case, it was just 3. How so? Listen to this short NPR audio report from the ground in Sichuan, in which Melissa Block accompanies two parents looking for their two year old son. Don’t read, don’t look. Just listen.
Peej
I’m trying to comment and I keep coming up blank, because you have it absolutely right. That story says it all.
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(This particularly hits home so hard, though–oh not just because I have a small toddler son myself. But because I know of that frantic hope against hope that somewhere, underneath the rubble, someone you care for is alive. It’s a frenzied, manic altered state of reality (and mind) where you think this simply cannot be and is not happening. Because if it was real and the worst had come to pass, surely you couldn’t stand to live yourself. Yet there you are, still living, in defiance of this terrible event and the only way that would be possible is if it weren’t really, truly happening. And so you hold on to your hope as the only truth you want to–make that the only truth you *can* let yourself–believe in.)
MB
Peej, I can only imagine that. And because of that radio segment, that imagined situation involves a lot more empathy. I didn’t speak the mother’s language, but I understood her exactly when I heard her cry out for her son. I think most any person on the planet would.
Joy
I had to stop listening to the radio when it was on. I’m not proud, but I just couldn’t listen. It made my mind crazy just living it as the recipient of the story. It didn’t help that I had my baby on my lap at the time.
Peej, that is a really moving description of the state of mind involved. From the outside I think it is relatively easy to think logically about the likelihood of survival, and the horrendous hopeless state of things. I wouldn’t be able to stop digging for my daughter.