The Tsunami that hit on December 26, 2004 affected one family in Salt Lake City, Utah. Here is part of their story that they wrote.

Tsunami Dive
By
Sally J. Nelson, Ph.D.

When we arrive at Ko Ban Island I can see a few other larger dive boats. We didn’t take a large boat because it takes three hours to get to the islands from Khao Lak on them. Ko Ban is a large rocky protrusion out of the sea. There are no beaches. Our dive masters, Bretta and Thomas, survey the conditions and decide to go around to the other side of the island where they expect the current will be less turbulent. Bretta has a puzzled look on her face. “I’ve never seen this kind of current here before.”

Our Captain takes us around to the north west exposure of the island. Bretta briefs us that we must be aware to stay together as there is a strong current. She outlines the path of our dive. We will drop down and proceed back around the island from the north west side to the south side.

We jump into the sea. Stu, Shonti and I are buddies. We gather with the other divers on the surface and Bretta asks, “Are you ready?” We are and we begin our descent. We begin with the expectation that we will be dropping down together. But our expectation is soon shattered.

Before I reach 20 feet I am alone. I can not see anyone. Stu is gone. Shonti is gone. Bretta is gone. My visibility is about 5 to 10 feet at best. The water is thick with white particles which look to me like rock salt. Much later Stu tells me they are bubbles caused by the churning of the currents.

Once I realize I am alone I plan a navigation strategy. I must keep the island to my left. I peer through the turbulent water. I can barely make out the whitish shadow of the island. I drop down to about 45 feet hoping to get below the surge of current that is pushing me backwards. I must swim against the current so I stay on track with the dive plan. The current is pushing me north and I want to go south. The shadow of the island seems like a creature that wants to wrap around in front of me. It is on my left, but it is also in front of me and appears to wrap around me off to the right. I peer into the swirl of white particles hoping to find Stu or Shonti or anyone else. I am alone. The shadow of the island is beginning to feel like a white specter of gloom.

I decide I’d best surface since I cannot navigate by keeping that specter on my left. It seems like the island is surrounding me. I will go up so I do not have to worry about underwater navigation and I can get my bearings visually. I also decide I will be okay to surface without a rest stop because I have not gone deep and I have not been down more than a few minutes. I begin to inflate my BC and surface as slowly as possible given the turbulence around me. I rise through a current that is reaching out and grabbing me from all directions. I feel as though a thousand hands are pulling me in as many different directions all at the same time.

I break the surface and orient to the island. It is no longer a shadowy specter. It is now a formidable obstacle toward which the 4 to 6 foot waves are tossing me. I realize that I have been carried pretty far north by the current. I am a piece of flotsam caught in a web of currents. My efforts to swim against the current are futile.

I inflate my BC completely, turn over on my back. I focus on my breath, center myself to conserve my energy and the air in my tank. I release my regulator and feel it sink beneath the surface. I know how to retrieve it if I need to but I feel a little nervous as I hear it gurgle into the sea, then silence. I do not have my snorkel. I always take my snorkel but in previous dives the days before the water was so calm I found the snorkel cumbersome. None of the other divers been using their snorkels so I decided I would leave mine behind this time. I did not make the connection that the ‘strong current’ that Bretta warned us about would be best encountered with a snorkel on board. Oh, well , I don’t have it so I’ll just have to pay attention to how I breathe as I feel myself riding up the inside of a wave and then falling down its outer curve. I’m glad I didn’t go see that movie “Lost at Sea.” I don’t need the extra aggravation.

I don’t know if I am going to survive in this situation, but I manage to stay calm. Although I have not thought about the rule “stop, breathe, think, act’ I do just that. I take action moment by moment.

I decide to kick backward away from the island. I’ll try to get out of the waves and swim back around the point to the other side of the island.

I peer out to sea and I see a boat is moving in my direction. Then I see an orange diver’s sausage between me and the boat. I assume the owner of the sausage belongs to the boat and the boat is going to pick that person up. For some reason I assume the boat will not pick me up because I am not one of its divers.

I turn away from the boat and look toward the island. I see another orange sausage in the eddy close to the island. Perhaps I should head for the eddy? I do not think to inflate my own sausage. Later I will discover I do not have it in my BC pocket and I will think about how ill prepared I was for this event.

Then, as though I were dreaming I hear my name: “Sally! Sally! Sally!” I can not tell what direction the call is coming from. I relax though as I am comforted by the sound of my name. It has to be Stu. He has come looking for me. I let go of the small voice that has chided him for not staying close to me when we dropped down.

I start to kick toward the sausage in the eddy. I hear several voices yelling, “No! No! No!” I think the people on the boat are yelling ‘No!” at the sausage between me and the boat. In between the up and the down side of each wave I hear the ‘No’s” and I also hear my name. I don’t put the two together and I continue to kick toward the eddy.

I don’t know why I change direction. Perhaps I feel the increasing turbulence as I kick toward the eddy. Perhaps at some level I realize the boat is not going away and that getting to the boat would be my best bet. I don’t remember making a decision I just remember reversing my direction and kicking backwards toward the boat.

The sound of my name grows louder. Moving in that direction is easier. Before long I reach out and touch Stu. What sheer joy to reconnect with my buddy! I feel reassured that now we will make it. We can make it together. The boat moves away from us. I wonder out loud about that. Stu says our boat will pick us up soon. I’m a little bit skeptical but, sure enough here it comes around the point of the island toward us. What a beautiful sight that little speed boat is!

As I haul my almost full air tank and my exhausted self up the flopping ladder on to the bouncing boat, I am embarrassed, ashamed. I believe it is my fault that the dive has been aborted. Once I am on board I see that Shonti and all the other divers are already on board. I feel like a dope. I am an inadequate wimpy diver who could not keep up with the group. I expect the other divers to be upset with me and I prepare myself for sarcastic remarks at the very least.

But the other divers are each slumped in their seats. They too are exhausted as they remove their gear. Bretta says, “I have been diving at this island for five years and I have never experienced currents like this. It’s like a washing machine down there.” I feel an odd relief as I realize that I am not the only one who was disoriented during the dive. I let go of any sense of annoyance with Stu for disappearing. Bretta still has that puzzled look on her face as she peers at the water around the island. We all look attentively as she points out the white water waves crashing against the rugged rocky protrusion of the island. “Well, perhaps we can go back to the Similan Islands where we dove yesterday. We will go to our live aboard which is anchored off Tachai Island for lunch and then decide what to do.” We all slump back on the bench and the Captain takes off at a rather fast pace. In the thirty minutes it takes to get to the boat the divers chat with each other about the dive. Apparently, almost every one lost their buddy and most aborted the dive within two minutes from entry. “That current was like a washing machine!” Bretta says. Stu responds, “We should not have dropped down where we did. That was the wrong spot. We should have started the dive on the south side of the island.” Bretta disagrees and they ‘discuss’ their reasons for how the dive should have been executed. Stu is adamant, “We should not have dropped down where we did.” Bretta is adamant that we should not have started the dive on the south shore. They never see each other’s point of view.

It takes the speed boat about 20 minutes to arrive at the live aboard. It is considerably higher and bigger than our speed boat so it takes a lot of effort to climb from one to the other. I am tired and the effort is difficult for me. We take seats at the picnic table and Bretta and Thomas serve us lunch. Thai rice and chicken. As we eat I feel uncertain about what is going to happen. I observe the divers who are living on this boat. They are watching a video. That strikes me as odd.

Then I feel the boat which was normally flat on the water, rise up and glide along for about 20 seconds and then slip down to settle again, unperturbed by the experience. I have experienced similar sensations sailing my trimaran over a swell in the Pacific Ocean. Usually the swell is only a few feet high and never as wide. Suddenly, I hear a loud crash. I look toward the sound and see the foam climb up the side of the rocky island. The water spreads all the way up to a few trees scattered along the top. The island is about 250 to 300 feet high. Someone shouts pointing toward Tachai Island, “My God what was that!!” As we watch another even bigger wave crashes up against the rocky protrusion. The second wave climbs ferociously up the side of that rock mountain and seems to wrap around its perimeter. Then it is gone. The sea is calm once again.

Bretta still seems puzzled when she tells us to relax. She says we will do ‘something’ in about an hour. I sit at the table for a while and then slip along the side of the boat to the front where I plop down in the sun and take out my book. Stu and Shonti join me in a few minutes. We stretch out with our books prepared for a non-diving hanging out period of time. Bretta comes up to us and says, “I have something to tell you. I want you to remain calm. It is important for you to remain calm. We just heard that there has been an earthquake near Phuket. We do not know yet how big it is but we will not be diving anymore today. We will go to shore when the water is calmer. That may take an hour or two.

Despite the turbulent experience at Ko Bon, I am disappointed that we will not dive again today. I don’t want to sit on the boat. I’d rather be on shore. But I can’t control the situation so I settle back to read my book. Less than ten minutes later Bretta returns and says, “We must leave. Now!” I’m surprised. How did we get from two hours to now? But we climb down into the speed boat. The Captain tells us to sit in the back of the boat because he needs our weight back there for maximum speed. We place ourselves along the benches.

My head snaps back as the boat hurdles forward. The ride is harsh. My butt is bashed against the seat as we hit a wave, and then another, and another, and another. I try to keep my butt off the seat by holding on to the side of the boat and lifting myself a bit. But the impact of the boat against the water jars my hands loose and my coccyx is bashed repeatedly. I am getting irritated. Why is the Captain speeding like a mad man? I keep adjusting my position in an attempt to prevent or at least lessen the impact on my tail bone. I dare not stand up. The Captain never slows down. The spine jangling ride continues. I am in pain and getting worried that my vulnerable lumbar vertebrae will be re-injured. I try to laugh and take it in stride but it isn’t easy.

Just when I think another crunch will surely crack vertebrae the boat slows to a crawl. I hear gasps and moans from the Captains chair. I rise to my knees and peer over the side of the boat. I take a sharp intake of breath at what I see spread out before me. A long stretch of debris extends as far as I can see along the south side of the boat. It continues as far south as I can see and it continues toward the shore as far as I can see.

Someone points out a medium sized black dog balancing precariously on a piece of wood that might be a table top. He knows we have spotted him and watches us closely. Bretta says we must rescue him. The Captain, who has maintained a slow speed because of the debris, goes even slower as he makes his way toward the dog. As we make our way toward the dog we see that the debris spreads out in row after row toward the south. As we stare in disbelieve we see movement. It looks like a man waving his arms. It is! We leave the dog and motor slowly toward the man. He grabs the rope the dive master throws and he is hauled through the water and up the ladder onto the boat.

Then someone spots another man. Two of the dive masters have put on life jackets. They dive into the water and swim toward the man. One of them grabs him before she realizes he is dead. When she does her hands fly to cover her eyes and she screams “Oh no! Oh my God, he is dead, he is dead!” and she breaks into sobs. The dive master calms herself and turns to the Captain. “What should I do?” ‘Bring him, bring him,’ the Captain shouts.

The two women extricate the dead body from the debris. It is floating face down. Another dive master goes into the water and they untangle it from the floating debris and haul the body to the boat. But it is too heavy to pull on to the boat. Stu asks if there is a rope on board and when he gets one he tells the divers to wrap it around the body, under the arms and around the neck. It takes five people on board plus the three in the water to get the body on board. They place him on the bench at the back of the boat. Someone covers him with a towel but his left arm is frozen in the air. Rigor Mortis has taken the body.

I feel myself trying to avoid this image. I do not want to admit that the man is dead. A stunned silence settles over all of us. I look around. The debris is suddenly a floating lifeline for the injured and the dead. What has happened here? I still do not recognize the connection between what I am seeing and Britta’s announcement about the earthquake. I have lived in California for so long I have become used to the earth tremoring and settling back into stillness. So, have I just have not tuned into the fact that this earthquake was monstrous? The thought of a Tsunami has not yet entered my imagination.

There are no other boats anywhere to be seen. We are the only hope for anyone still alive in the water. Stu is on the top deck of the boat with his binoculars scanning the debris carefully for survivors. Over there! And there! Then we hear more cries and the Captain turns toward them. The dive masters and Stu pull four or five badly battered and shocked people into the boat before the Captain gets the call that another wave is coming in about forty minutes. We turn our attention to heading for shore as fast as the captain can safely move that boat forward. We leave the black dog behind as we inch our way north, through the sea of debris that gets thicker and heavier the closer we get to shore. It suddenly hits me, “Oh my god, it was a Tsunami!” I look closely at the beach for the first time and I am shocked beyond words as I realize that there is nothing left on the beach. There is absolute silence on the boat as I look for the resorts and the dive shop and the restaurants that lined the beach as far as I could see when I departed that same beach only 6 hours earlier. Now all I see is rubble and uprooted trees and no sign of life anywhere. My spine does not complain now.

I hear Bretta shout, “When we get to shore, get off the boat and run as fast as you can and climb up the mountain as high as you can. Luckily, I think to get our dive boots out of our dive bags. I pull out mine, then Shonti’s then Stu’s and I hand them theirs. We work efficiently. Shonti will take her back pack and the water proof bag with the passports and wallets and Stu’s backpack. I will take my back pack and Stu will help carry the wounded to shore. The Captain drives the boat right up onto the beach. I jump out into two feet deep water and wade to shore. Shonti is in front of me. Stu is still on the boat. I pause and look back at him. The dive master is waving us on…’run! run! She shouts. I hesitate. Thomas, her husband, has placed two back packs on the beach and he is wading back to the boat. I don’t know why but I pick up the packs. I walk slowly across the beach. Then I turn around and call, “Stu, what are you going to do?” He yells back, “You and Shonti get to high ground. I am going back out for survivors.” We hold each other’s eyes for a long moment and he bends to the task of hauling the dead man off the boat. Reluctantly I turn away. I do not want to leave him but I know I must. Shonti is already pretty far ahead of me.
© Sally J. Nelson, Ph.D. 2005



Tsunami of Tears,
An essay written by Kali Breisch for school in October 2004

When it comes to my mother, I don’t remember much. I can briefly imagine snippets of our life together; the way she used to sweetly read me my favorite children’s book, “Ginger Jumps,” or how she would gently tickle my back and sing Ohm Namah Shivia as I drifted off to sleep. There’s not much else my two and a half year old mind absorbed before the cancer took over her body and she left us, but one day in particular stands out in my mind: August 6, 1992

It was a cool summer morning. As I lay outstretched inside the fort of pillows and blankets my siblings and I had made the day before, the sun silently crept through a crack and brought me to awareness. Sleepily, I crawled from the warmth of my nest and trekked downstairs to my parents’ bedroom. My father greeted me at the door, and with tears in his eyes he slowly bent down and scooped me up into his arms. He whispered in my ear, “Mom is waiting for you, come give her a hug.” As we turned the corner I saw her curled up in our warmest blanket in her favorite red-orange La-Z-Boy reclining chair.

Even at such a young age, I could tell something was not right. Her overall being was frail: her skin was pale, her hair was stringy, her breathing was heavy and she wore an eye patch. With much difficulty, she summoned enough strength to invite me into her lap. Carefully, I climbed the mountain of blankets and settled in her arms. I enjoyed the glass of fruit juice on the table next to the chair while she told me stories. Eventually, we both fell into a tranquil sleep.

When I finally awoke, my mother was still sleeping. I tried to wake her, but her slumber persisted. After infinite ‘mommy wake up’ attempts I finally realized she was never going to come around. A tsunami of tears drenched my nightgown. I was wailing, gasping for air. I could taste the salt running past my lips, and I cried some more.

We had a viewing for my mother in our home the following day. Hundreds of relatives and dear friends came to pay their respects; naturally, our home overflowed with love and sorrow. I remember looking down at mother’s swollen body inside her coffin; despite the presence of death, I had never seen her look so beautiful. My eyes welled with tears as I bent down and placed my hand upon hers and tried to say goodbye.

At a mere two and a half years of age, I did not know English well enough to verbalize my feelings. If given the chance again, I would tell my mother exactly how much of an influence she had and still has on my life. She is my role model, my heroine, and I admire her more than anyone. She will always hold a special place in my heart, and I love her dearly. I just wish we could have had the chance to relate to each other and become friends, and I have no doubt that she wishes the same. I miss her perpetually; not a day goes by that I don’t think of her and how our life together could have been. I understand that she had to leave, that there was no other option, but upon leaving she left a hole: a hole in my life, a hole in my heart, a hole that can never be filled. All that was left was the light.



My last day with Kali before the Tsunami took her away,
an story by Jai Breisch written from a Bangkok hospital
This is a story for anyone who knew Kali or has heard about her passing. It is the story of her last day and her last moments, which I surely thought would also be mine, so be prepared. I am her 16-year-old brother, Jai Breisch.

Kali was such an amazing soul. She and I, along with every other person who was privileged enough to meet her, can agree that she was not an ordinary girl. The moment she walked into a room, you could feel her, you could know how she was feeling and experience the miracle of how much love she had in her heart for everyone and everything. I was so lucky to spend all of my life and such a wonderful Christmas day and night exclusively with her.

During the day we went on a trek through the jungle, and I remember her making me the official spider lookout (they were her worst enemies) as we explored through the foliage together. We found some big jungle vines and thought it would be fun to swing from them like we had seen in the movies, so we did exactly that. I remember the joyous look on her face as the wind blew through her hair while she was swinging through the trees and plants. We finally reached the end of the path, which placed us on a giant rock overlooking the ocean. "Come check out these cool crabs," she said as she leaned over the edge towards the ocean.

Once again, she made one of her brilliant smiles that could light up even the darkest corners of the universe. She expressed how pretty the view was and we had a joint decision to walk along the rocky shore to a beach instead of continuing through the jungle.

Along the way we saw many cool sea creatures and birds that surrounded us as we made our journey along the sea. "Ahhh," she yelled as I almost stepped on a giant jungle spider that was a foot from where I was standing. "Kill it, get it away from me," she cried. I laughed, she smiled and we continued.

When we finally reached the beach, we were so worn out and covered in sweat that we decided to return to the resort. Later that night we went on a shopping adventure through town. It was my first real night out, because most of the trip I had been feeling icky from my neck injury, but I decided that it was X-mas and I might as well make the best of it.

We started out our experience pretending we were French tourists, speaking what French we had learned in school to the Thai store owners and having a grand old time doing so. We went to many shops and had fun bargaining with the people and buying cheap rip-offs of expensive brands. Christian Dior was her favorite, and I remember her buying a nice white bag.

She was very interested in the small works of art (Buddhas, jewelry) that the Thai artists had created, for she herself was a very talented artist and someone who had great appreciation for the arts. The sight of her eyes lighting up after she saw or experienced something she liked was a feeling that could warm anyone's heart. A piece she found that she especially liked was a pretty shell necklace in a rectangle shape that had a green and silver glow to it. I remember the reflection of her gleaming eyes and radiant smile in the piece, and it made me feel so full of life and happiness just to have the experience of being next to such a beautiful soul.

After looking into many shops and making some Thai friends, we rejoined the rest of the family and they expressed wanting to call it a night. Neither of us wanted to go back to the resort when we were having so much fun together in town, but it was getting late. Eventually we gave in, which is odd considering the fact she and I were always on the same wavelength and were used to getting what we want by joining forces. We got back to the resort and crashed after having a long yet exciting Christmas Day.

The next thing I remember is her yelling, "Jai! Jai! Get up! You aren't going to believe this!"

I was half-asleep and groggy, so I was hesitant to get up. I figured, through half-awake rationality, it was just a spider or a cool-looking animal. The next thing I know, I am standing next to her in the bungalow with a pair of earplugs in my hand looking out the back window/sliding glass door at what looked like a hurricane. There was water everywhere, and from what I could see, everything was a gray color. There was this massive noise of such magnitude that I can only explain it as something such as the Niagara Falls might be able to re-create.

I saw that there was water all the way up to our back porch (three feet or so.) We exchanged looks of excitement and terror as each of our minds were racing at a million miles an hour, spitting out curses and trying to find an explanation for what was happening. Then we saw the wave. It must have been two stories high or more and it was headed right for our room. "WE HAVE GOT TO GET OUT OF HERE!" I screamed, and we ran for the door.

The second I opened the door, there was a crash as loud as a million bottles breaking and I was underwater praying for my life and searching for air. I was able to grab on to a suitcase that had washed out of the room for a moment, but I was soon pulled under again. I looked back at the bungalow and all I saw was the red tile roof floating above the water. She was nowhere to be seen.

My first instinct was to swim back and get on the roof, but the massive force of the water was pulling me away with the force of ten semi trucks. I was pulled under and under again, and it seemed that my life was traveling in slow motion. All I could do was keep telling myself, "This is not my time to go!" as I was experiencing what felt like being in a washing machine with bricks, pool balls, glass and razor blades.

I was washed through a construction site and tried several times to grab on to concrete posts with re-bar sticking out of them, but the water was moving too fast and there was not enough human power in me to fight such an amazing force of nature. It was an impossible task to get air, for the complete surface of the water was covered in debris and it was like trying to get your head above water in an ice-covered lake. One time I was able to grab on to some boards and float with them, but another big board soon floated over my head and I was under again.

While I was on the surface, I saw dry land just 50 yards in front of me, but it was being covered and demolished at a devastating rate. A few minutes later, I was smashed through some dense jungle where the water, with all of its force, was knocking down everything in its path. The trees that were not knocked down combined with the water to make rapids and terrible currents that sent my body spinning in every direction.

This whole time all I could think about was "what if" a tree hits my already injured neck. "I will sure be dead," I concluded. CRACK. The top of my shoulder was smashed in by a tree trunk and I was sent into further spiral. I noticed that my body was dragging on the ground, so I tried to gain footing, but I realized if I stopped moving, everything from behind would completely consume me.

Finally I was able to get hold of a giant log and float with it for another five minutes until the water finally settled out and I was able to walk. After accomplishing the amazing task of just standing up, I walked past a refrigerator and a septic tank that was 10 times the size of me to reach something I never thought I would touch again - dry land.

There was a small inclined path in front of me, and when I reached it I collapsed. As I looked up through the trees from the leaves, bugs, dirt, blood, and debris that covered my body, I saw the most beautiful sun and sky I have ever seen.

I knew I needed to get help, so I stood up and called out but no one answered. Only the sound of trickling water was to be heard. I saw a house through the dense leaves, so I limped on and climbed through a barbed-wire fence onto the driveway of that house. There were two trucks and three little motor scooters out front, so I surely thought there must be people inside.

As I walked through the open doorway into what seemed like an apartment complex, I noticed shoes outside of each room. I helplessly began banging on the doors, screaming, but there was no reply. There was a trail of blood following behind me and the sight of it made me lightheaded, so I laid down once again on the cool tile floor.

A few minutes later I realized I needed to still find help, so I limped up to the road. When I got there, I was confronted by a group of Thai women who were screaming and crying while pointing at my leg. I looked down and there was a backwards 'J' cut on my right knee and the whole thing was gashed open all the way down to the joint. A man helped me into a truck and I was taken to a small care center, where I was transferred into the back of a truck/ambulance with about seven other bloody, dirty, shocked and scared people.

When we finally got to a hospital, it had been about an hour since the wave hit and everything in my body had gone numb and my whole right arm could not move an inch. They put me in a wheelchair and I was wheeled past body after body lying on the floor, for there were not enough beds for all of the victims. All around me were screams and it looked as if all of the floor was covered in blood.

I was lucky enough to have a bed, and the second I laid down all of the reality had to set in. In all of the madness that I had experienced, the only rational conclusion I could come to was that my whole family was dead. I had not seen Kali exit the bungalow after me, nor did I see her after the wave settled, and if my dad, his partner, and my older sister were scuba diving when a 40-foot/300-mph wave hit, I was sure that they had all left me. That was a hard thing to accept, and I had to live with it for three days and in three different hospitals.

Not only was I alone in Thailand with just a pair of boxers to my name, I began going through narcotics withdrawal from all of the medicine I had been taking for my neck. I could not eat or drink anything, for I would in turn violently throw it up. There were headaches, hallucinations and pains that I cannot describe.

In the middle of all of this drama, it was decided that I was to be med-evacuated to the Bangkok Hospital in Bangkok, where I am staying and writing from at this moment. I underwent five debridement surgeries to get the infection out of my knee joint, and I was alone here for two days before I heard news of at least part of my family being alive. At that moment I broke down in tears just to know that I was not left here alone on this planet by the dearest people to me.

I was finally able to be reunited with four-fifths of my family when the clock tolled 12 on New Year's Eve. There was still no news of my little sister's whereabouts.

My dad decided to go back down to Khao Lak, where we were staying, with the ABC news crew to film for "Good Morning America." While filming they visited one of the three temples/temporary morgues where the corpses from the tsunami were being held. As they scanned the pictures of the bodies inside, there was a sudden moment of silence. My older sister, Shonti, had found a picture of Kali on the wall of death. They all broke down to finally face the music of what had happened to their beloved family member.

Disturbingly enough, ABC was right there to catch that for everyone in America and across the globe to see. It is a terrible thing to have happened to us, but as I have seen, it has turned people that don't even know my family into family. I hope that hearing this story of my family can help more people to understand how terrible this whole tragedy is and to help them open their hearts, lives and wallets to all of the people over here who need help from others so much.

Thank you for taking the time to hear my story. I hope with all my heart that it is enough to bring people together to understand and help the millions of unfortunate souls that have had to go through such trauma. Much love to you all and God bless.

ForKali.org Foundation