As time has elapsed, one or two of my previous posts have noted anniversaries in this story and I may have mentioned too at one point that we live in New Orleans. So it was that a little over a year ago I was regrouping in Texas with my wife and daughters after a harrowing series of events following Hurricane Katrina. We had been separated at first after they had flown out early on a hastily arranged trip to visit relatives a safe distance and several states away, our wise pre-storm plan. Two days later I was sticking to a work-related commitment and on perhaps the last flight out, a closed but still chaotic airport disappearing below and a terrifying wall of black sky looming just a few miles to the south.
In the following days I watched an already hurricane-battered New Orleans slowly fill with water, this on BBC television from a hotel in central Europe between my work-related tasks and while my Hungarian hosts helped me to try to book a return trip to somewhere, anywhere near my uncertain home. My return destination turned out to be Texas, from which I quickly headed back to New Orleans to sneak past military check points to try to rescue our important papers, especially our adoption-related documents, but, really, most importantly, to try to save Mr. Cat, our feline friend of 14 years and beloved companion for my oldest daughter Dorothy-Rui.
At that point Orleans Parish was a strange otherworldly landscape, the view in every direction like terrible scenes from an apocalyptic science fiction film. At our house, Mr. Cat was sadly gone. The only sign of him was an ominous pile of loose fur on the floor in our tilting central hallway. Nearby was a huge gaping hole in the wall and roof where a giant oak tree had crashed through the back of our house. But in a sunny spot perched against a limb from this same tree, in an area near what used to be our den, was the plastic bin that held our documents, miraculously unscathed.
It took a while to organize our repairs but I realize now that we were far ahead of most and very lucky to have begun this work so early. Still, my wife and daughters stayed four months in Texas until last December and in hindsight neither our house nor its immediate surroundings were quite ready when they returned. We were still camping. Eventually, over the next several months, the house came together. Power and phone connections were returned, albeit tenuously. Stores, restaurants, and schools began to open. Slowly the city collectively began an ongoing attempt to clear its debris.
This is the fortunate perspective from which I've tried to weigh the difficult situation far across the globe at the Hengdong SWI in central China during the same period. For here between the levees in New Orleans, especially early on, was a broad view of the human condition from which to draw upon in remarkable examples of bravery, cruelty, compassion, greed, ingenuity, and indifference. There were great lessons in the importance of government programs and also in their inherent weaknesses. The storm and the collapse of the canal flood walls that led to so much death and destruction made strong individuals tragically frail while occasionally uncovering remarkable strengths among the otherwise helpless. In the end, the storm produced a vast wreckage that stands today as a monument to befuddlement over problems usually discussed now as being way too big or way too deep. It's been interesting to consider this against China's attempts to work through its colossal challenges.
There is no denying that the storm was awful in its consequences, but to families like ours it was also a precious reminder of the beauty and resilience of our children and how each smile is a gift, each hug returned is a soft treasure, and each tiny hurdle overcome is a magical triumph. Everything else is just stuff.
I don't know for certain why so many children are abandoned in China, aside from what we know about China's attempts to control its huge population and the other factors described in previous posts. I sure know it doesn't make much sense. Yet, there are a lot of things that don't make a lick of sense and sometimes you don't have to stray too far from home to find them.
My two children happen to have been born in China and the story here of the Hengdong SWI is also just about all that we know of my daughter Clara-Li's important Chinese heritage. But it's interesting that since we live in New Orleans most of the sense of real loss and tragedy that my kids have most keenly felt thus far is very clearly one step removed from their birth country, which is okay since there are good lessons in that.
We are who are and very often become much more than we may seem.
