Returning to the Scene of the Crime

 CHRISTCHURCH, NEW ZEALAND

Walking through Hagley Park this afternoon, I thought of the last time I was here in February. That afternoon, I had walked through the park with 4 others, the panic rising in my chest, wondering about what we would find in town, whether friends and coworkers were all okay. 


Six months later, the park and surrounds are eerily quiet, snow and puddles have replaced the liquefaction. The center of town is fenced off, silent save a few excavators working where buildings once stood. I am surprised to see a vacant lot where an apartment building once stood that had appeared fairly intact when I left. I am pleased to find my favorite breakfast place has reopened, along with the cheese shop, both places that I had visited the morning of the earthquake. The woman who owns the cheese shop even remembered me when I went in today, glad to know that I too had escaped unscathed. 




 From behind a chain link fence, I can see the Grand Chancellor hotel, still leaning on neighboring buildings. With all the continuing aftershocks, it surprises me that it still stands in the same position. Shredded curtains flap in the breeze, dangling out the broken windows of a nameless office building. Walls are missing, publicly exposing previously private bedrooms and bathrooms.  


Standing on the bridge peering through a fence into the hollow city, I am suddenly very sad. From where I stand, I can see the battered remains of so many familiar places. Around the bend, I can pick out the pieces of the building of the restaurant where I celebrated my 30th birthday. This place is more than just some random city to me. It carries the nostalgia of home, and I do believe a little bit of my heart is here. And I do believe that little bit of my heart is bruised and battered. It is the first time I have felt truly sad about  what has happened here, something other than the fear and anxiety that overwhelmed me in February.