Who Took the Statue? Afternoon Crushed 💔 (Part Two)
In memoriam, gratuitous puppy photos, and a sliding doors career as undercover cop
For readers who wish to avoid sensitive content: This essay contains a story about drug abuse and self harm, and the video below has disturbing visuals from the Beirut explosion.
We have but faith: we cannot know;
For knowledge is of things we see
And yet we trust it comes from thee,
A beam in darkness: let it grow.
—Alfred Lord Tennyson, one of 133 cantos from In Memoriam A. H. H., a poem written over 17 years from 1833 - 1850
✍️ Friday, August 4
Today is the three-year anniversary of the Beirut port explosion, the largest non-nuclear blast in human history.
I had forgotten until Michael reminded me when I got home from taking Ryder out, heart cracked open again this afternoon for different reasons.
In the video thumbnail below, Michael’s high school friends’ daughter Alexandra is pictured on the poster. She is one of hundreds of tragic casualties from that day, August 4, 2020.
Her photo became a symbol of politicians’ neglect and outright fraud.
The “accidental” detonation of 2,750 tons of ammonium nitrate—believed by some to be left behind by an actual sinking ship seven years prior, and possibly bound for chemical warfare in Syria—irrevocably altered thousands of lives, plunging millions more into crisis as the country spirals deeper into corruption and economic collapse.
Right now Lebanon is a place where, despite the exquisite beauty of the Mediterranean surroundings and the people who live there (including Michael’s family), everyday citizens must now resort to holding up banks—who are holding their funds hostage—just to access their own money for survival.
The Lebanese Lira has lost over 98 percent of its value since 2019.
In an interview with Human Rights Watch, Alexandra’s father Paul, who Michael grew up with, bravely said of the blast:
“We know for a fact that most of the key responsible politicians from the president to the prime minister to the army…were aware about the ammonium nitrate,” said Paul Naggear, whose 3-year-old daughter Alexandra was killed in the explosion.
. . . We were killed in our homes on this day, by [politicians] who were aware of the consequences and the risk of having a fire erupting next to ammonium nitrate and just watching us and waiting for us to die.”
Instead of answering emails this morning as I should have after neglecting them all week, I sat at a coffee shop editing the previous essay, Morning Rush, Afternoon Crushed 💔 (Part One). I suggest reading that first, before continuing with this one.
I traced over the details of running into my park friend JoJo two days ago, then learning about his devastating loss two years ago, while Michael and I were still reeling from the conditions in Beirut.
Any businesses losses from this time period paled in comparison.
On my subway ride home, I spotted serendipity signage on a woman’s lap.
She was carrying a backpack for a healthcare company that said:
“Be well. Be kind. Do more.”
I couldn’t help revisiting my conversation with JoJo as I read it, and even with regards to our extended family in Beirut.
Be well. Be kind. I wish I could do more.
Once out of the subway, I stopped in at Whole Foods to pick up a few staples: olive oil, honey, almond milk, meat for Ryder, bananas, and two bouquets of white flowers.
As I carried the double-paper bag in my arms, I felt utterly grateful that I could afford these items, that business was still good enough. Revenue much lower than it had been pre-pandemic, but still good enough.
Far beyond good enough, by so many measures.
Today I would place those flowers at JoJo’s spot under the tree, next to the Virgin Mary statue he recently put there for his girlfriend who passed away two years ago from a drug-related infection.
Even if I didn’t run into him again any time soon (or ever?), maybe he would see the flowers and know somebody was thinking about him, honoring his loss.
As I mentioned earlier, I’m a None—spiritual not religious. But after a semester and a half at seminary, I do know that they say when two or more gather in his name . . .
“For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them.”
—Matthew 18:20 (NIV)
Maybe if JoJo placed the statue, and I placed the flowers . . .
Except by the time I arrived at four p.m. that Friday, I was flummoxed by what I saw.
Or rather, didn’t.
