I am consistently struck by the relentless speed at which time seems to slip away, particularly when considering disasters as indelible time stamps.
Two weeks ago, I received a piece of news from my former grade school teacher in her annual holiday greeting card that revived this feeling. In a way, so much time had passed since the catastrophic flood of July 2021. That summer, record rainfall had caused rivers across Western Europe to burst their banks. In a matter of hours, the artery of my hometown of Bad Neuenahr-Ahrweiler, the Ahr, swelled, inundating deep parts of the medieval town, erasing streets, ripping away all its bridges, and claiming the lives of 68 locals.
For weeks, I googled my school teacher’s name to see if it popped up in an obituary. Mapping her home address, I knew she’d been in the affected area, but my emails to her had gone unanswered.
All fears were finally assuaged five months later when, like clockwork, I received my annual note from her on the day of my birthday. She and her husband had survived the flood. Their home was partially destroyed, like most schools and infrastructure all around. For weeks, they lacked internet and phone service. Overcoming the shock of what they’d suffered became their priority.
Since that event, so many others have unfolded: Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, which is soon entering its third year; more catastrophic floods, this time in places like Afghanistan, India and Brazil; countless mass shootings in the US; the renewed war between Israel and Hamas; extreme heat breaking world records around the globe; and the list goes on and on.
The onslaught of news makes it easy to forget. Forget the world of pain others are still reeling from. Forget the achingly sluggish pace at which their towns get rebuilt, brick by brick. And forget the yesterday that, to some, will forever shape their today and tomorrow.
So, the piece of good news I mentioned? It may seem trivial and momentous at once. At long last, my elderly teacher and her husband have regained the ability to inhabit the first floor of their apartment since that fateful summer day.
Two and a half years later, a semblance of normalcy has returned.
They have found solace in celebrating this Christmas within the familiar confines of their home. Her husband can now recover from his recent knee surgery in a more favorable environment without the use of stairs. And both get to experience “Vorfreude” (pleasant anticipation) by thinking about the new flowers that will adorn their small garden in the spring.
It’s the simple things.
As the clock strikes midnight tonight and we get to unleash new hopes, wishes and dreams for a new year, a new us, let’s celebrate the simple things in our lives.
Happy, healthy New Year, dear Futurisk reader.
Yours,
Lorraine