Muerto

I don't really even know how to begin this blog entry.  Actually, I didn't even want to write it.  But I know this story needs to be shared.

El esta muerto... he is dead.  These are words I've heard this week more times than I can count.  The prison tragedy here has tore through so many lives. Through so many families.  If you don't know what I'm talking about please click on this link.  http://www.reuters.com/article/2012/02/15/us-honduras-jail-fire-idUSTRE81E0OK20120215

This week the mob of families outside the jail in Comayagua, Honduras grew larger by the day.  One morning I saw the army loading into trucks for crowd control.  The people were so desperate to find out if their loved ones were dead that they were pushing their way into the jail.  The cops responded by shooting into the air and throwing tear gas. 

30 of our church members and a nanny at the orphanage lost family members in this tragedy. Diana who is only 18, lost her older brother.  Her family is in Tegucigalpa (the capital of Honduras and 2 hours away) now trying to reclaim the body.  But the process is hard because the bodies are so damaged.  The stories of how these people have to sort through burned corpses is nauseating.  And while Diana’s family is trying to find their son, she is at home preparing their home for the funeral.

This is the situation with a lot of families.  In most cases, mothers and fathers have no choice but to leave their young children at home while they travel to the capital.  Some of these kids are left with no food or money.  The families have no choice.

Yesterday, I joined a group giving food to some of these families.  Each home had a room dedicated to their dead brother or father.  All I kept asking God was "How much more can these people take?!"

One of the homes we visited was that of Diana.  Her parents had been gone for a week searching for the body of their son.  They weren't sure if he was dead but they couldn't sit and wait.  Diana was brave enough to go to the prison and ask again if her brother was alive or dead.

We stood outside the prison gates, joining the line that wrapped around the highway.  Finally a man came over with a list.  We waited anxiously as his finger scanned the 100's of names of deceased prisoners. Page after page we held our breath hoping his finger wouldn't stop.  But it did.  And as he looked up and factually stated "El esta muerto." My heart broke.  Diana's eyes filled and she stood there.  Hope gone, the finality of his statement sinking in.

We need your help.  Please donate through this blog. Your pocket change can feed a family.  $6 will feed a family for 3 or 4 days.  Help me buy food for these families.  Help me relieve a little of their stress so they can mourn their loved ones.