Another tragedy, another day

CATHARINE COOPER

Driving into town from the south last week, the sky gradually shifted

from smoke shrouded to cumulonimbus formations floating over a

silhouette of Catalina. As the sun settled into obscurity, I pulled

into the Montage parking lot. Golden rays broke through the clouds,

painting the sea’s surface with reds and golds. Camera in hand, I

raced to the cliff’s edge to capture this precious moment. I e-mailed

the photograph to a group of friends, with a caption, “It’s as if

heaven opened her arms and said, ‘enough’.”

Dawn broke the next morning with more clouds, and later the

cleansing magic of rain. Firefighters in all corners of the southland

sighed with relief as the weather turned in their favor. The siege

was over. The toll of lives and property incomprehensible. The

psychic numbness complete. The charge now, of settling into renewal,

placed upon the table.

Certainly, October memories influenced my inability to watch

televised coverage of the infernos. Laguna’s 10-year anniversary

played out on the pages of this paper and in all of our hearts and

minds. Tragedy is harder to ignore when it occurs up close and

personal.

My good friend, Josh Mitchell, had returned to Missouri last year

to spend time with his father whose health was failing. Josh is a

talented photographer who has recently opened a gallery in

Springfield. On a late summer’s day this year, he had been home in

Stockton. An itching he couldn’t quite name led him to leave the

house and head north for a cup of coffee. While sipping his latte,

his residence vanished within the leap and roar of a tornado. Had

Josh not left, the odds are, I would not have spoken to him that

afternoon. Several of his neighbors perished. He phoned me from the

site, describing the vast hole that had once been his home. With his

usual good humor, he told me that everything he owned was probably in

Kansas, including two cars. But that strangely enough, in the middle

of floor of the ceiling-less basement, were two of my landscape

photographs, a gift from many years ago.

Larry is a gifted engineer at Jet Propulsion Laboratory. He works

on interplanetary missions, exploring our neighbors in space so that

we might better understand ourselves and our relation to the cosmos.

His son was the light of his life and he bragged of him regularly. He

graduated near the top of his class from West Point in May, 2002.

Earlier this year, he married his true love and shared dreams of a

growing family. In September, he was sent to Iraq. On Oct. 30, the

U.S. government informed his parents that their son had been killed.

At times it feels as if everything is collapsing. Fires, tornadoes

and war are but three of a panoply of problems. I feel impotent to

instrument change in the course of the world. Tears bury themselves

deeply, unable to surface. I can’t find the space to cry.

Somewhere, right now, someone is taking another’s life. Somewhere,

a baby is taking her first breath. Someone is going to work. Someone

is having a traffic accident. Someone is eating breakfast. Someone is

singing a song. Someone is holding a hand. Someone is having surgery.

Someone is stealing money. Someone is painting what will become a

famous piece of art.

Someone is sick. Someone is getting well. Someone is writing a

Pulitzer prize-winning work. Someone is writing the script for the

next academy award. Someone is discovering a compound that will

extend our lives. Someone is inventing something I can’t yet

conceive. Someone is pruning a tree. Someone is planting a flower.

Someone is harvesting a crop. Someone is counseling a tired friend.

Someone is laughing. Someone is crying.

The world goes on, even when I can’t make sense of it. We are

small pieces of a larger puzzle, armed with the tools of love and the

charge of increasing our understanding. I have the power to change

myself, to continually stretch my skills and comprehension. I know

this one thing: that with every step, it is my responsibility to make

life more fruitful and effective. For me, that means making this day

better than the one before, to overfill it with harmony and joy.

* CATHARINE COOPER loves wild places. She can be reached at

ccooper@cooperdesign.net or (949) 497-5081.