No words

I've had a few ideas for posts mulling round my brain the last few days. I was busy this morning weeding, digging over bark and taking greens stuffs to the tip from Playcentre. 

Then I got a text from my brother. In Christchurch.  

"Major aftershock, pretty exciting but am safe and sound :)"

Now, you kinda have to know my little brother to understand how laid back flippant and fearless he is. That's a typical statement from him, really.  This is a man who was burnt and nearly died when he was 6. It was a long journey to healing for all of us in the family (Captain Awesome too coz he was there when it happened, altho we weren't married yet).  He is amazing, my lil brother. I asked him when he was about 15 how he felt about his scars (they are almost head to toe down one side of his body. you can see them when he's clothed) his response?  "meh. Indifferent"

He had accepted that he had the scarring, to the extent that he didn't really think about it. He was, IS a funny, self depreciating guy (he found a comic online called Burnt Face Man and then found it amusing that his friends called him that!), he is caring, gentle, strong, amazing guy.....holy fuck. I've realised this is reading like a fucken eulogy! That was not my intention.

I'm not sure what I wanted to say today. I think my words were stolen once I got home, turned on the tv thinking it was just another big aftershock to discover it was so much more than that.

My heart goes out to the people of Cantebury. It felt like they were finding their feet after the earthquake in September last year.  Only to be kicked to their knees today. 


I have no words... I'm not an eloquent person. I'm glad my brother is ok.  I hope that he continues to be ok. I'm sure he will be out helping others. He was last time.


I pray and weep for those who are hurt, afraid, have lost loved ones or who simply are left bewildered by these events.  I am no one that can offer any comfort really. I'm just a lone voice among so many that feel for the people of Christchurch, watching from the safety of our homes, feeling blessed that we are not there, and helpless that we are so far away and unable to help.