Waiting. Watching. I don’t watch the news, but for the last couple of days, I haven’t been able to look away. I have never felt so helpless in my life.

Images of an iconic riverfront restaurant where I spent a fabulous New Year’s Eve just a couple of years ago sinking beneath our rising river. Friends packing what they could and fleeing their homes, not knowing what will greet them when they return. Frantic text messages to friends I know who live in potential flood zones. Waiting. Watching.


Eventually, I had to tear myself away from the tv and various social networks and try and busy myself in my own home, trying to pass the time until I can do SOMETHING.

It’s the not knowing that really does you in. We are too far from the river to have any idea what is going on. And, while this means our home, family and belongings are safe, it also means we cannot comprehend the extent of the damage. We don’t want to be sightseers viewing the misery of others, so we wait, busying ourselves in absurdly ordinary ventures. I moved the contents of my linen cupboard and cleaned out my laundry all the while feeling completely ridiculous – the contents of hundreds of linen cupboards was floating out to sea on the Brisbane River. And so we waited. And watched. But tomorrow we would be needed. Tomorrow thousands of people would return to what is left of their homes and begin the long, heartbreaking task of sifting through the devastation to salvage what they could of their lives before the floods. Tomorrow we can help. Tomorrow the waiting is over. Tomorrow the war begins.

 

Advertisement