Arts & Culture - Armenian Reporter

essayTwenty Decembers ago, life was brutally cut shortIn memoryby Armen D.BaconMy husband’s uncle, Uncle Milton, oncewrote our family a note that said, “WeArmenians are prone to great suffering.”At the time, he was responding to a singularloss of a loved one. A child. Ourson. Somehow, in the body of his letter,he tried to explain that this one loss reopenedthe wounds of all of our people.When one is wounded, the blood drains fromall of us.Hearts ache in unison. An Armenianperishes in some distant corner of theuniverse and Armenians everywherefeel it. The never-ending and perpetualgrief cycle somehow begins all overagain. Uncle Milton didn’t elaborate,but, in all of his infinite wisdom, I thinkhe wanted us to know that Armeniansacross the world were wrapping theirarms around us in comfort during ourtime of need. He also, I believe, was tryingto convey that we would survive thisordeal, this unimaginable loss – just asour ancestors have endured great tragediesthroughout history. There had beenwars, genocide, and, more recently, theearthquake. He closed his letter by remindingus that, as Armenians, we possessan unwavering spirit, one that cannotbe shattered or shaken. Not even byan earthquake with a magnitude of 6.9.It is a well-documented fact that Armenianshave suffered more than theirfair share. Just sit in any Armenianchurch on a Sunday morning and observethe depth of sorrow and whimpersthat can be heard from the pews– watch the church elders as they lowertheir heads in sorrow while the DivineLiturgy and music remind them of lostloved ones. Our losses, whether freshor ancient, occurring here in Americaor somewhere else, are somehow connectedand intertwined.When the earthquake hit in the late80s, life on this side of the planet wassweet and simple. My own children, atthe time, were in grade school, both ata magical age of innocence. Our parentswere still alive and healthy, and, quitegenerally speaking, there was less pollution,more time for friends and family,little to no technology to distract usArmen D. Bacon is senior director for communicationsand public relations for the Fresno CountyOffice of Education and a regular contributor to theArmenian Reporter (See profile December 8, 2007).Ms. Bacon lives in Fresno, California, and is a wife,mother, professional woman, and writer. Since2004, her thoughts and reflections about life havebeen published in the Valley Voices section of TheFresno Bee. She also writes, produces, and hosts aradio series titled “Live, Laugh, Love” on Fresno’sK-JEWEL 99.3 radio. She can be reached atarmendbacon@aol.comfrom the human side of life, and, despitethe normal trials and tribulationsof daily life, it was a time of pure andsimple abundance.Life changes in an instant. The quakehit on December 7, 1988, at 11:41 a.m.local time in the city of Spitak in Armenia,killing at least 25,000 children andadults. Although initial reports weresketchy at best, the headline news hadbeen announced and Armenians everywherewere militant in wanting to riseup to offer aid and come to the rescue oftheir families and loved ones abroad.The local Armenian churches and reliefsocieties immediately began collectingmoney and clothing and became a clearinghousefor information about lovedones. Special church services and prayerofferings for the lost, wounded, or nowhomelesswere being chanted aroundthe clock. Long-distance calls acrossthe ocean beckoned word of safety andwell-being. But to everyone’s chagrin,power sources were down, communicationsterribly hampered, and for daysCalifornia residents received little if anyThe headline newshad been announcedand Armenianseverywhere weremilitant in wantingto rise up to offer aidand come to the rescueof their families andloved ones. Photos:Photolure.word of relief efforts to find their families.Conversations with neighbors, relatives,church officials, and God tookplace nonstop, hopeful of encouragingnews. We awaited lists of survivors,heard miraculous stories of survival,but as details eventually unfolded, welearned that the injuries were staggering,mainly because dismally shoddybuildings had resulted in one of theworld’s worst-ever quake disasters.It’s difficult to imagine a loved onetrapped in a collapsed building, woundedin rubble, wandering aimlessly insearch of other family members. Howgrateful we would suddenly become,tucking our own families into bed atthe end of the day, wrapping ourselvesin warm blankets, taking refuge in oursolid and well-constructed ranch-stylehomes, with peace of mind of our ownsafety and well-being. There is little justicein the world.Those first photographs were horrific.It’s odd to admit, but you first look atthe faces. When it’s another Armenian,you immediately feel this compellingneed to act. This could be your brotheror sister, an aunt or uncle. You see theprominent features, the olive complexions.Then your eye takes in the surroundings.The sights of cities destroyed,schools demolished, medical facilitiesleveled, and the sounds of people crying,weeping, even moaning as theysearch for loved ones and signs of life.The statistics underscored the devastation– 25,000 killed, 15,000 injured,517,000 people homeless. To add insultto injury, the disaster hit on a day ofextremely cold temperatures. “Asdvadz,”I remember my Auntie Mary repeating,as she made the sign of the cross. Overand over again. It took days for her familyto confirm the safety of her cousinswho lived in one of the nearby villages.When you live in Fresno, a city by andlarge protected from the wrath of MotherNature, it is difficult to imagine suchdevastation. In the days and weeks tofollow, we collected money and clothing,delivering them to the church wherethere were assurances that they wouldreach those in need.A few years later, I met a family fromGyumri whose arrival to Fresno broughtstories of remembrance and words ofgratitude. The villages had been hard hit.The tremor had leveled schools. Zohrab,who spoke very little English, recountedthe story with tears streaming down hisface. The plight of his people had madehim decide to come to California tostart a new life. The gifts of support hadgiven him promise of a new and betterlife for his family. Many years ago, he,too, had lost a child. The earthquake hadfurther shaken his world. I marveled athis strength and courage, his unwaveringoptimism that life could be better inthe United States. I reread my uncle’s letterthat evening, quickly reminded thatwhile we are a people prone to great suffering,we are also a people who will risefrom the ashes to rebuild and renew ourlives.Armen Bacon’s essay is part of a series inthe Arts & Culture section that feature shortcreative fiction and nonfiction pieces fromour community of readers. For consideration,submit your original work to arts@reporter.amArmenian Reporter Arts & Culture December 6, 2008C3