I saw my friend Jan today. That's twice in about 20 years. We visited for about five minutes and did not speak of the very recent destruction in Tonga. I didn't know of it; perhaps she didn't either. Her husband is Tongan, Pulia Tuha. I don't know where he comes from exactly, but I have seen the photographs of two Tongan towns that used to be until today.
American Samoa, Sumatra, Tonga. I don't know where else. Newscasts show the destruction, and it is utter, unbelievable ruin. People working to make some kind of order, others walking aimlessly because they have no place to go and perhaps do not recognize what were once familiar scenes. Survivors telling of their escape and the loss experienced by those not so fortunate. One woman telling she has her children, and that is all she cares about. Another witnessed a mother racing the water to save her children and failing, losing all three of them.
In the background of these newscasts, always, a very calm sea. Very calm. Belying the power it exhibited not so many hours before. Hard, in fact, to believe the ocean was ever anything but the way it looks today. But it was.
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While Jennifer would play on Hukilau Beach I would watch the waves as they made their way to the shore. Sometimes I would get scared because of the immense energy and force driving them to the beach. Some of our Samoan friends in HI lost their loved ones in the disaster. We feel for them and their loss.
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