Sometimes there is no recovery.. This image hit me a little more than others from the tornado outbreak.. These two folks who appear in front of a mound of wreckage may have been surmising their own house.. the comfort they know was taken off of the ground and moved forever. Away.
And now they simply stand and stare.. in wonder as the wander around to try to salvage any memories of the times that were. Maybe lucky enough to find an old photograph .. maybe they’ll be happy if they find a memento that was stuffed in a drawer in the house that is not just laying on top of the debris.
I don’t know their story. And as a matter of fact it is their personal story and their own business to know their story. So I don’t have to know or want to.. but I can only imagine that their story, and a big number of other people too, are going through a re-write of a story.
Their lives shaken and torn apart .. fabric of security of a home. That is important. It’s a foundation. A place of small luxury in some instances.. and a place of happiness and privacy. Ripped apart.
No, sometimes, there is no recovery.
Don’t you agree…
There is no recovery…
How can you look at a photo like this and not agree?
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