I don’t have the exact numbers. You probably know them better than I do. They’re saying that a lot of people have died, aren’t they? As for me, I would like to remind everyone of this: In the streets of Port-au-Prince, I have had the privilege of meeting many more of the living than of the dead. And that’s good news, don’t you think?

My friend said to me, I was always naughty around my mother. Normal – when you think about it – considering that she hasn’t lived with her mother since she was three. Her father, an intellectual city-dweller, always astonished her. Erudite, handsome, articulate, wise. When she went to school, she was proud of her father. But her mother, who was uneducated and lived in the country, in a traditional house with a thatched roof, like the houses one sees everywhere in this country—how could she be proud of her mother?

Jonathan, I spent the weekend with my mother at Croix-des-Bouquets. You know, since the 12th, since the planet stopped revolving around me, I haven’t spent a single night in a bed, peaceful, sleeping soundly. In the city, in a tent, with the smell, the dirt, the noise, I just couldn’t get any rest. But at my mother’s house I lay down on her bed like a child and said to her,

“Momy, kenbe’m nan bra w, kenbe’m fòr! Tanpri Momy, toure’m ak bra w epi kenbe’m. Please, mommy, hold me tight; put your arms around me and hold me; hang on to me.”

Her voice, soft as a child’s, betrayed her anguish. Again today, on the telephone, she tells me about more members of her family whom she has lost: cousins, uncles, aunts ... How is it possible not to fall into despair when, every day, one is confronted with this incredible reality? Haiti, I say to myself, eyes closed, will need what my friend discovered several days ago­—the unconditional love of a mother.

Life is changing us. That’s what it’s there for – that’s its job. In the most difficult moments, the brain no longer functions properly. The heart doesn’t either, for that matter. And it is at that precise moment that the human being, shaken, fragile, weak, comes to rediscover love. My friend laughs when she tells me that what reassured her most—before—it was knowing that she had a job, a house, a degree. She found her identity in all of these things. Today, what worries her the most is that she is not sleeping near her father, her brother, her own. The house is gone. It’s only concrete, she tells me. The degree has disappeared. It’s only paper, she replies. And what of her dream of going to study in Belgium? It’s been given a raincheck for now; I have a country to help rebuild, she says to me on the telephone.

Yes, truly, life changes us. Is that really so terrible? Or is it our perception, the way we look at things that matters most?

At L’Arche, we talk a lot about perception. Perceptions of the other, perceptions of society, our own perceptions. I wonder if perhaps we aren’t forgetting something. Perception can’t change except when some kind of event forces it to change, to look at things differently. I have seen it here for months now, the perceptions of all those who are in contact with L’Arche, from nearby or far away, have gradually changed. For my friend, it took this tragic event that has struck us all to change her view of her own life.

And in that I see a sign, even though I’m not superstitious at all. A sign that the perception of Haitian society in relation to disabilities may be transformed if the message is passed on. A message of hope, and a message of opportunity. The opportunity for everyone to have equal room in this little country.

At this very moment, hundreds of people are having limbs amputated. Do you think their perception of people with disabilities will change by accident? Or because of this phenomenon?

Truly, life changes us ...

Postcriptum - Forgive me. I promised a blog entry every two days and there you have it, I’ve become a liar in front of hundreds of people! You see, without wishing to excuse myself, communications are not the greatest right now in my adopted country. ... And I have an old computer that only works with a stable source of current, so– like millions of others here—I’m getting used to sending news only when I have the opportunity.

Now that we’re in Chantal, I promise once again to keep you up-to-date on what’s happening in my community, in the country, in my head, and in my heart, as often as possible.

Until tomorrow!