I will never forget those numbers. For many in the world, these figures represent just another far-off natural disaster. They may remember when they first heard about the Great Tohoku Earthquake and Tsunami, as it has become known, but for me I remember feeling the movement of the earth, as it swayed back and forth like a boat rocking in the ocean waves. I remember wondering, “when is it going to end?” I had felt many earthquakes before, but this time it was different, very different. Everyone around me knew, just knew that this was not a typical earth shaking.
I remember everyone in the hallway stood up as soon as the building started to move. Like curious onlookers, we peeked out of our offices and operatories to see what everyone else was doing. No one left – we all just stood in our doorways, holding on to the walls. Some sat down so they wouldn’t fall. At first it was gentle – an assistant across the hall who was from New Zealand, and had felt many earthquakes before, mentioned that this was not small. We waited. The shaking did not stop, in fact it intensified, lasting almost two minutes. Within 30 seconds the lights flickered then went out, and the emergency generator kicked in, powering only the tiny yellow emergency lights on the ceiling, which only added to the eerie ambience now present in the clinic.
Most earthquakes, even the strong ones, are usually short, quick bursts of power. This one swayed and rolled longer than anyone had ever felt. Dental stone casts in one of the doctor’s rooms could be heard crashing to the floor. Finally the rolling stopped long enough for everyone to leave the building.
Outside we gathered out the designated evacuation point, nervously talking to each other, wondering what just happened. Some Japanese co-workers were visibly worried – an ominous sign. One of them had lived in Misawa her whole life (she’s in her 50s now) told me she’d never felt one like this before. That didn’t make me feel much better.
Then the aftershocks started. Multiple times per minute for who knows how long. Trees waved their branches but there was no wind. Cars in the parking lot danced back and forth on their tires. Aftershocks continued, thousands of them in fact, over the next month.
What we didn’t know at the time was that while we were gathered outside our building, standing in the cold but safe from harm, a monstrous wave was racing toward Japan’s east coast. Many had less than 15 minutes warning to seek higher ground. In some places, the water travelled six miles inland. Simply not enough time. Neighborhoods and whole villages vanished. More than 15,000 died or disappeared.
So that is what I remember from 3/11/11 14:46 + 5 minutes. It is still fresh in my mind, one year later.
In the past year, since that infamous day, I have acquired many inspiring memories that have stemmed from that disaster. I watched firsthand as this great country healed itself. I visited some of the areas hit by the tsunami, and witnessed the destruction, the wounds of the land, firsthand. But I have also been privileged to observe the healing process, and though the scars remain as memories in all our minds, or as evidence of the altered landscape, nevertheless, there is an unexpected strength and resilience in this country. And that is how I will remember Japan. Not as a country devastated by a natural disaster, but a nation of hope, strength, unity and love.
Rob
I remember everyone in the hallway stood up as soon as the building started to move. Like curious onlookers, we peeked out of our offices and operatories to see what everyone else was doing. No one left – we all just stood in our doorways, holding on to the walls. Some sat down so they wouldn’t fall. At first it was gentle – an assistant across the hall who was from New Zealand, and had felt many earthquakes before, mentioned that this was not small. We waited. The shaking did not stop, in fact it intensified, lasting almost two minutes. Within 30 seconds the lights flickered then went out, and the emergency generator kicked in, powering only the tiny yellow emergency lights on the ceiling, which only added to the eerie ambience now present in the clinic.
Most earthquakes, even the strong ones, are usually short, quick bursts of power. This one swayed and rolled longer than anyone had ever felt. Dental stone casts in one of the doctor’s rooms could be heard crashing to the floor. Finally the rolling stopped long enough for everyone to leave the building.
Outside we gathered out the designated evacuation point, nervously talking to each other, wondering what just happened. Some Japanese co-workers were visibly worried – an ominous sign. One of them had lived in Misawa her whole life (she’s in her 50s now) told me she’d never felt one like this before. That didn’t make me feel much better.
Then the aftershocks started. Multiple times per minute for who knows how long. Trees waved their branches but there was no wind. Cars in the parking lot danced back and forth on their tires. Aftershocks continued, thousands of them in fact, over the next month.
What we didn’t know at the time was that while we were gathered outside our building, standing in the cold but safe from harm, a monstrous wave was racing toward Japan’s east coast. Many had less than 15 minutes warning to seek higher ground. In some places, the water travelled six miles inland. Simply not enough time. Neighborhoods and whole villages vanished. More than 15,000 died or disappeared.
So that is what I remember from 3/11/11 14:46 + 5 minutes. It is still fresh in my mind, one year later.
In the past year, since that infamous day, I have acquired many inspiring memories that have stemmed from that disaster. I watched firsthand as this great country healed itself. I visited some of the areas hit by the tsunami, and witnessed the destruction, the wounds of the land, firsthand. But I have also been privileged to observe the healing process, and though the scars remain as memories in all our minds, or as evidence of the altered landscape, nevertheless, there is an unexpected strength and resilience in this country. And that is how I will remember Japan. Not as a country devastated by a natural disaster, but a nation of hope, strength, unity and love.
Rob
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