Photograph

Worn clothes hang from her thin frame.
Threadbare, mismatched, brightly colored, 
they are a contrast to the mask of grief on her face.
Furrowed brow. Life's toughest moments etched on her cheeks.
Her black hair, parted just where it has begun to gray,
hangs in braids at her shawl-wrapped shoulders.

I don't know her name
but this woman from Guatemala's Chimaltenango province
is cloaked with a humanity that I can relate to.
Her body bowed with resignation under the weight of her loss.
Eleven relatives washed away by Tropical Storm Agatha
Stomach protruding, she casts an unseeing glance down at the earth that took them.

A scene of destruction frozen in frame:
ravaged land, broken branches
The trees' vibrant shade of green seemingly mocks her despair
A haunting suggestion of the lives that once were there
In this quiet scene of grief, she is wholly removed from the chaos that ripples across the globe.
Right now, her shattered corner of existence is the only one that matters.

More than 1,700 miles away, a stranger grieves with her.

Photography by Ulises Rodriguez/EPA

Tragedy as a teacher

Dear Brooke: We gathered to mourn your absence and celebrate your life today. There were hundreds of people there -- a very full Trinity Church -- witnessing to your warmth and your generous, loving spirit. We cried for the anguish you endured as you bravely fought your illness; we laughed at your joyous approach to living (inspiring 3 weathered climbers to dance to techno music at 4 a.m. on an isolated road in Yosemite Park); we shared your teacher's awe at your brilliance as he marveled at the lessons you learned on the very first try and your capacity to master everything you studied; we smiled at your curiosity and your efforts to problem-solve Apurva's snoring when you shared a room with him on a school trip; we took note of your loyalty and your lasting example to us to live fully in the moment; and, we resolved to go forward carrying you in our hearts -- each day, each moment -- to ensure that your exceptional presence will not get stamped out by an enemy as desperate as the devil.

Today was a journey for us all. We came to the church bereaved, bewildered and yearning for your presence. What we found were countless people touched so deeply by your life that they gathered from all corners of the globe to celebrate you, even in death. I was left to wonder how many would do the same for me. Your life is a challenge to bring greater awareness to each moment and to disconnect from the frenzy I so often invite into each day. I go to bed tonight resolving to awake with the determination to delight in the present, even in trials or discomfort, rather than eagerly await for its departure; to let it teach me something, as you did by admiring the rock surfaces while trying to find your way on a craggy cliff in hand-stiffening cold. We came carrying glimpses of the person we knew, and left with a fuller vision of the richness that dazzled us all. We journeyed from the despair of your suffering to the hope of your legacy.

Forgive me, Brooke, for the frustration I expressed toward you in my last post. I know it wasn't you, but the illness, that pushed you to your final decision. Forgive me for the rawness. I still struggle to comprehend it all but I've resigned myself, as your father said today, to let myself be humbled by that which I don't understand. What I know is this: You were exceptional. You gave much of yourself to others. You were an enthusiast of life and its hidden treasures, possessing a vision and level of awareness that few have. And you were so loved.

You will not be forgotten.