Post by Gator on Oct 8, 2006 20:31:07 GMT -5
At night, since I had EMS ID, I was allowed into the airport in Kenner. This was where ALL the refugees were being taken. If I hadn't grown up knowing the place, I would have swore I was in a 3rd world country. The place was beyond smelling, dirty. There were the sick and dying..it seemed everywhere. Here and there, were people sitting watch over dead loved ones. When I asked how long they had been there, some said up to 4 hours. They were waiting for someone to come and take them away. The middle of the airport looked like a war hospital...actually it was. Everything up to the surgery rooms. There were every kind of patient from trauma, to medical, to mental, to geriatric. Sections of the floor were taped off to designate 'wards'.
In the mist of this, over in a corner, someone caught my eye. It was this old woman, & what looked to be her dying husband in a wheel chair next to her. In the middle of all that chaos, thousands of filthy people on their way God knows where, this woman had found herself a broom, and was sweeping. I dont mean casually sweeping, but sweeping the floor around her little corner with all the focus of a soldier in full combat...In a way I believe she was. She had this set look on her face, like...she may be homeless, her husband may be dying, she may be reduced to the clothes on her back and this one corner of the airport, but by GOD, it WOULD be a CLEAN corner. I really think THAT was her only thought, her only sense of sanity. I think I'd sooner attempt to disarm a Navy S.E.A.L. than try and take that old woman's broom at that moment. I quietly checked her husband's oxygen, his vitals & general presentation. She never gave a hint of looking up from her broom. Her husband was just hanging on,...not much longer though. Nothing at that point could be done, even in a fully operational hospital. Somehow, I knew I didn't have to tell her. I left her to her sweeping. God bless you, lady.
Yup, so many faces, so many stories. Not one of them knew what was gonna be next. I can't see how people made it out of that with anything but a sense of gratitude for being alive, being together, for being CLEAN!
Miss Virginia
When I got back from the initial relief effort, I went to the American Bank Center here, where some refugees were being housed. I was handing out some cigarettes when I came across this older woman in a wheel chair. I saw her smoking and asked her if she could use a pack. She politely declined, whispering that she didn't smoke that brand, but someone else might like them. She pointed to the door, said that there were plenty of people in there comlaining about this and that. She said she felt better being away from all of that negativity. She saw no reason to complain being alive when so many were dead. Now, I gotta tell you, I think I gave cigarettes to people who didn't even smoke, just so they could have something for trade. But here is this woman who has cried herself hoarse, two broken legs, and with the prettiest smile in the world, who refused to take something she wasn't going to use herself. I sat and talked with Ms. Virginia for almost an hour, till I realized I was late for work. I returned the next day with a pack of Kools just for her, only to learn that she had been flown out to California to be with her daughter that morning. I learned that from a kind elderly gentleman who turned out to be her boyfriend. We sat on the steps of the place, as he told me how they lived in the same building together, and of how he walked her home one night from a little nieghborhood club they both frequented, how she initially resisted his charms, but eventually, they began dating. Turns out Ms. Virginia is authentic Louisiana history, being the first black female mail carrier in the state. I also learned that she had her legs broken in a mob rush when someone opened fire at the convention center in New Orleans, when they were waiting for rescue. I thought back to the day before to Ms. Virginia's smile, and how so many of the refugees I met were so ready to complain about the food, beds, etc. I thought of the spirit this woman must have to smile through all that pain.
I never saw her boyfriend again after that, truth is, shamefully I cant remember his name. I want to say it was Edgar. I DO, however, remember how his face would light up when he spoke of Ms. Virginia.
In the mist of this, over in a corner, someone caught my eye. It was this old woman, & what looked to be her dying husband in a wheel chair next to her. In the middle of all that chaos, thousands of filthy people on their way God knows where, this woman had found herself a broom, and was sweeping. I dont mean casually sweeping, but sweeping the floor around her little corner with all the focus of a soldier in full combat...In a way I believe she was. She had this set look on her face, like...she may be homeless, her husband may be dying, she may be reduced to the clothes on her back and this one corner of the airport, but by GOD, it WOULD be a CLEAN corner. I really think THAT was her only thought, her only sense of sanity. I think I'd sooner attempt to disarm a Navy S.E.A.L. than try and take that old woman's broom at that moment. I quietly checked her husband's oxygen, his vitals & general presentation. She never gave a hint of looking up from her broom. Her husband was just hanging on,...not much longer though. Nothing at that point could be done, even in a fully operational hospital. Somehow, I knew I didn't have to tell her. I left her to her sweeping. God bless you, lady.
Yup, so many faces, so many stories. Not one of them knew what was gonna be next. I can't see how people made it out of that with anything but a sense of gratitude for being alive, being together, for being CLEAN!
Miss Virginia
When I got back from the initial relief effort, I went to the American Bank Center here, where some refugees were being housed. I was handing out some cigarettes when I came across this older woman in a wheel chair. I saw her smoking and asked her if she could use a pack. She politely declined, whispering that she didn't smoke that brand, but someone else might like them. She pointed to the door, said that there were plenty of people in there comlaining about this and that. She said she felt better being away from all of that negativity. She saw no reason to complain being alive when so many were dead. Now, I gotta tell you, I think I gave cigarettes to people who didn't even smoke, just so they could have something for trade. But here is this woman who has cried herself hoarse, two broken legs, and with the prettiest smile in the world, who refused to take something she wasn't going to use herself. I sat and talked with Ms. Virginia for almost an hour, till I realized I was late for work. I returned the next day with a pack of Kools just for her, only to learn that she had been flown out to California to be with her daughter that morning. I learned that from a kind elderly gentleman who turned out to be her boyfriend. We sat on the steps of the place, as he told me how they lived in the same building together, and of how he walked her home one night from a little nieghborhood club they both frequented, how she initially resisted his charms, but eventually, they began dating. Turns out Ms. Virginia is authentic Louisiana history, being the first black female mail carrier in the state. I also learned that she had her legs broken in a mob rush when someone opened fire at the convention center in New Orleans, when they were waiting for rescue. I thought back to the day before to Ms. Virginia's smile, and how so many of the refugees I met were so ready to complain about the food, beds, etc. I thought of the spirit this woman must have to smile through all that pain.
I never saw her boyfriend again after that, truth is, shamefully I cant remember his name. I want to say it was Edgar. I DO, however, remember how his face would light up when he spoke of Ms. Virginia.