周五－什邡
(加拿大中国地震灾区采访队记者Christina Stevens6月20日报道)今天是我们在这里的最后一天，这一天开始得实在很不顺利。我们原本计划到什邡县的一个深山小村，但最终去不成了。 因为我们要在检查站与警察争论，以及没完没了的等待。其他的车辆都通过了，但我们被截停检查。最初他们说这里很危险，跟着又说有传染病的危险。但郤又见到市场上有产品摆卖，人流穿梭。最后只能去到不太远的Lou Shui村。警察都跟在一起，我们只能有数分钟的时间，看到另一大堆塌下的三合土，钢筋和玻璃碎，所不同的这是一所中学。附近是一处悼念学生的纪念碑。那里堆满人群，人们放下香烛铭镪拜祭死难学生。我看着其中一名泪流满面的妇人，她哭得很励害，即使不懂她的说话，也可以明白她的心情。我以身体语言告诉她我很难过，希望她能够明白。她看似明白的，首先点头，然后指向一个方向。我见到一幅少女的照片，少女双手拿着花圈面对镜头微笑。这是她的女儿。我告诉她我很了解，并称赞她的女儿很美丽。那妇人跟着回头对着香烛。我将会铭记她的面容。
回首这数天我们每天走访的灾区一个接一个，地震的破坏程度完全是令人震憾的。有那么多的人，那么多的受灾故事，那么多的哀愁。作为一个记者，我们都习惯面对死亡，但郤从未想过要面对这些。虽然我们要抽离自己去描述（及面对）这些故事，但我得承认，我哭了。这时候我们的焦点是复元。很多英雄事迹得到表扬，而一些地方的第一块重建砖头，亦已铺下来。但这些都不能，亦没有东西能够，令我的心不痛。那男孩失去母亲，父亲失去孩子，更多的人失去整个家庭及家乡，没有人为他们悼念，他们甚至很快被遗忘。想到这里，我的泪掉下来，很快的抹干了。每一位我遇到过的幸存者，我都会给他们一些鼓励及希望说话，但我知这些都不足够，而且感到爱莫能助。我只能做到的，就是让他们知道这世界的人都关心他们。让他们知道在地球的另一边，每一个人都关心这边地球的每一个人。道理很简单，一个母亲的伤痛是全世界一样的，根本不需说话来表白。
FRIDAY Shei Fang County
（文中Shei Fang 应为什邡 Shi Fang）
(加拿大中国地震灾区采访队记者Christina Stevens6月20日报道) It’s our final day here, and to be honest it started off badly. We planned to go to a mountain town deep in Shei Fang County, but that was not going to happen. Instead, we spent endless time waiting and arguing with police at checkpoints. We were singled out and stopped, while other cars zipped past. First we were told it was dangerous, then we were told there were fears of disease; but a farmers market teeming with people and products seemed to rule that out. Eventually we talked our way a short distance into the county, to the town of Lou Shui. Then, with officers at our sides we had a few minutes to look at yet another crumpled heap of concrete, steel and glass. What made this one different is that it was a high school. Next to it, on the street corner, a memorial to students is crowded with mourners. Red candles and incense burn in the midday heat and the grief is tangible. I look up and catch the eye of one of one women. She is weeping so much that tears run down both cheeks and drip off her face. You don’t have to speak a word of her language to understand. I try to convey how sorry I felt, hoping she would somehow understand my gestures. She appeared to, first nodding, then pointing. I turned to see a photo of a teenaged girl, grinning at the camera and holding wreaths of flowers in both hands. This was her daughter. I told her I understood, and that she was very beautiful. The woman turned back to her incense. Her face is an image I will leave with.
Looking back, as we drove though one disaster area after the next day after day, at times the enormity of it was overwhelming. So many people, so many stories of loss, so much sadness. As a journalist, dealing with death was nothing new, but nothing could prepare me for this. Although a certain distance is required to tell the stories (and to cope) I confess, here I cried. At this time the talk is of recovery, there are tributes to heroes, and in some areas the first bricks are being laid as rebuilding begins. Still, nothing, nothing can stop my heart from aching: for the boy who lost his mother, the father who lost his children, and most of all for entire families and villages who have no one left to mourn them or even remember them. The tears come, but I wipe them away. To every survivor I met I added my own encouraging words of hope, but I know it wasn’t enough and I am left feeling helpless. All I can do is let them know people care. People on the other side of the world care, for each and every one of them, individually as human beings. The reason is simple and clear, a mother’s grief is the same the world over, you don’t need words to understand it.
Mother mourning at Lou Shui High School
Mother’s 17 year old daughter killed in Lou Shui High School.
