The vanishing of a scar is what most would consider a positive end result from a healed wound. The complete disappearance of an unappealing mark that most often represents a negative experience is what people use Neosporin and other ointments to accomplish. As the 1 year commemoration of the January 12th earthquake in Haiti dawns, I have been reflecting on the status of my scars.
The external scars on my back, right foot, and lower right leg are still there, but are much lighter. They no longer properly represent the experience that put them there, and while I thought this would bring me comfort, having no outer blemish, I find myself anxious over their decreasing presence. How do I tell the story to new people without being able to point to something? This ultimately leaves me exactly where I do not want to be. No longer able to deflect questions of my experience with a quick flash of my shin, all that is left is the way more harrowing emotional scars that I rarely discuss.
In a country so full of undesired blotches, tent camps, piles of rubble, and collapsed buildings that seem to serve more as catalyst for the blame game than a continued call to action, I have taken solace in the constant reminders of the disaster. I am in no way suggesting that I want these things to remain, but rather acknowledging that dealing with the tangible is more straightforward. While these feelings might/are odd, when discussing the earthquake with Haitians I find them responding similarly. In talking with World Concern beneficiaries over the last week in preparation for the 1-year-later update, the answers to questions like “how did you feel?”, “describe your greatest frustration”, “what are your greatest needs?”, were physical. Beneficiaries, regardless of their earthquake experience, pointed to cracks in the walls, rubble piles, or items stored in tents, but no lingering sadness, grief, or anger were mentioned.
During an interview with a Quartier (neighborhood) Committee member, Pascal Jeune, who helps World Concern implement our projects in Nazon, the avoidance of anything below the surface was obvious. The 27 year-old father of one who brought his son home the afternoon of the earthquake to friends and family, of whom 13 of would die when his house would collapse hours later, is still clearly as uncomfortable as I am when asked about his feelings. Naturally, when I interviewed him, the death of 13 of his relatives was discussed and the only response I could get from him is that “their absence makes me the head of my household and that makes things very difficult for me.” I tried to continue the conversation after the formal interview was over, but his serious face and welling eyes proved to me that his emotions about the 12th are just as raw as mine.
Now, I realize that having 6 foreigners standing around with video equipment does not create a relaxing environment where one might feel secure enough to open up, but I believe it is more than that. I have been asked about my experience by strangers, friends, and family members and my reaction is always the same. Look at the ground, take a deep breath, think of something light-hearted to say…and then point to the scar.
In rare moments of complete security, usually shared with Frank, I might reveal more. The helplessness, fear, and pain of facing losing everything I loved remains. The constant inundation of images from the earthquake, while I reminder I am not alone, makes my increasing sensitivity to those suffering painfully acute. And in the deepest of places, where I rarely want to go myself, I face the fleeting moments of horrific doubt that I am still under that house and that I never made it out, that this is all a dream. So much for scars fading…
The certainty of life is things move forward whether you are ready or not. While I can so easily transport myself back to that potential coffin of rubble and the emotions that go along with that reality, a year has passed and my exterior marks are fading. I know that my scars on the outside do not have to mirror those on the inside, but their slow departure feels like pressure to move on and I am not ready. So what to do?
I guess the first thing is to be thankful for the support and love I have received and continue to receive. For all of you, who stopped your lives for my and Frank’s recovery, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I would not be where I am today without you. Another thing is to realize how lucky I am that my scars are healed and fading while the physical destruction as a result of the earthquake is still the most prominent thing you see as you travel throughout Port-au-Prince. Lastly, is to accept that one year has past and that my recovery and reconstruction has the same status as the Haitian people’s, incomplete.
Beautifully written, Jill. It’s an extremely thoughtful search of
your psyche and the beginning of slotting your earthquake experience into its permanent position in your memory.
Love you very much, G-G
Jill, this was absolutely amazing. I think about you and your story often and wonder how you are coping. I’m glad you shared this with us and continue to hope and pray that you are doing well.
~Emily
Jillian
Thank you so much for sharing from your heart. I cannot imagine living on both sides of the fence……the personal experience of the earthquake……and the more technical side of its aftermath.
Both you and Frank have been on our minds and we want you to know that you continue to amaze us. We love and respect you in ways that words cannot really describe.
xxoo Maralena & Kellie
Thanks, Jillian, for your work ethic, love of the Haitian people, and your openess in this article.
Ji, you’ve hit on something very fundamental here. “Scars” exist on two levels, the obvious physical level and the deeper emotional level. Broken hearts have no physical scars, but we never forget them. Time has passed, the frantic activity after the quake is fading and eventually all we’ll have left is our memories of what happened.
A handy pale pink scar gives us the excuse to enter into a lighthearted “pale pink” discussion of the event – when all that’s left is the internal pain and memories, any discussion is going to be equally painful and emotional. Also, the scar provides an easy excuse to talk about what happened; making us do what we secretly want to do.
I struggle with “the story” myself, I want to tell it, but don’t want to get into it and I’m just a peripheral character.
Tears and hugs for my baby girl who has become wise beyond her years. God bless you with peace today as He hugs you and Haiti for me.
Mom
Thank you so much for writing this- this is a new perspective to me. I am fortunate enough to never have lived through something like this, so I will never fully understand, but I can learn to listen for what is not said.
One year ago we had never met, but I couldn’t go to sleep that night worrying about you. I felt frantic and would have been digging you out myself if I could have. Maybe I can make this day my opportunity to thank God for so many answered prayers.
Jillian, thank you for sharing this. We love you guys a lot!
Wow! Scars represent the remnants of wounds, both visible and invisible. They also represent the process of healing. While these scars are often accompanied by pain, it is human to want this pain to go away. And while the pain may subside, the memories never fully do. That’s the challenge with “invisible wounds” and I am heartened you can address these wounds in such a powerful way. I love you and Frank, and so hope that you will continue to heal.
Dad
As this day has approached I’ve thought a lot about you and Frank, what you have been through and continue to endure and witness. I admire and respect both your strength and struggle to heal. Thank you for sharing this deeply personal reflection as you move forward past the physical scars but contend with the deeper ones. We love you both and please know we are with you.
Hello Jillian (and Frank),
As a Latin America analyst working in London, I frequently find myself covering events in Haiti from what often seems like a distance of a million miles. I found your blog yesterday while scouring the Internet for reliable information about the situation on the ground in the country, and it gave me a far better understanding of how things are over where you are. The photographs in particular were fantastic. Bravo.
Katie
it’s hard to be lieve that a year has passed since our world took a tumble.i have never prayed so hard for any one person,needless to say my prayers were answered.THE BEANER is still with us,and our prayers will continue.
Grammy