He came for me

The following is my dear friend, David Pierre-Louis' account of his journey from Seattle to quake-ravaged Haiti to find his mother. The picture above is of her house, taken with his iPhone.

"My day started with the quest of going to find my mom. I packed my bag as I rose from the lawn outside this hotel where a ton of journalists are staying. As I tried to find a ride to my mom's area, I decided to walk because the drivers were being greedy: $75 for a 7-minute ride. Understood because gas is definitely scarce and who knows when we'll get more. As we walked, the stench of bodies filled the air on every other block.

"As we came up on the block, I first walked right by the house because a good portion of it was totally demolished. The fitness center across the street was also completely demolished with a really strong smell coming from in between the bricks. When I asked people if they knew my mom, they shook their heads until I mentioned her by her nickname, Tita. And they were like, "Oh, yeah," with joy in their eyes. "She's right there in the house next door."

"I opened the door. Her back was to me. I tapped her on the shoulder. The surprise, the tears, the hug so hard to explain. It was an unbelievable moment. She squeezed me so hard, crazy with joy. She paraded me down the street. "Meet my fourth son. He came for me," she said. "He came for me."