As part of the healing process, children were asked to draw pictures of their expiernce with the tsunami. This acitivyt helped them express feelings of grief and loss, which may have been kept silent otherwise. This image was crated by a child in St. Vincent's Home in Maggona.

In his sleep, he sees the rushing water again. It swirls and bucks uncontrollably, bursting against the beachhead and crashing like a fist onto the shore. Saveri doesn’t want to look, but he must. He cannot look away. A hundred voices scream as the waves grow impossibly tall, but their screams are devoured by the thunderous sea. He knows that the water is coming for him. He knows he cannot escape. Suddenly, the waves crash, forcing salty brine into his mouth, through his nostrils.

He awakes. “Amma? Appa?” he asks the darkness, hoping that his mother or father will answer his pleas. But as he scans the room, the last remnants of the dream slip away and he knows they will never respond. Saveri buries his head under his hands, and he can feel the salt water on his face now freely flowing from his eyes.

Fr. Damien, O.M.I., pulls up to the edge of the resettlement center in Point Pedro. He steps gingerly in the hot sand, and his eyes squint, adjusting to the reflected sunlight at his feet. The heat does not bother him much although he is dressed in a full white cassock, complete with the large Oblate cross tucked into his cincture.

Hundreds of white tents form rows across the sand. Nearly three hundred families are staying in Point Pedro, trying to rebuild their lives. The tsunami has changed them all, forever. They will never be the same.

Fr. Damien makes his way to his first stop to see a special young boy.

“Hello,” he says to the grandmother sitting under the shade of an awning.

“Hello, Father,” she replies.

“How is he today?”

“Good.”

Fr. Damien ducks into the common area of the two-room tent. Inside, he finds Saveri sitting in a small plastic chair staring at the dirt. A terrible burden for an eight-year-old boy, Saveri lost his mother and father and three of his siblings in the disaster. Since then, his sleep has been fevered and broken, tormented by recurrent nightmares.

“Hello, Saveri,”

“Hello, Fr. Damien,” the boy says.

“How are you feeling today?”

“Okay,” he says.

“And how is Pati?” Fr. Damien asks, gesturing to the bright green parrot resting in the black cage.

“He’s loud today.” Saveri tosses the bird a piece of bread, which Pati attacks with a squawk and devours quickly.

“How did you sleep last night?”

The boy shrugs and stares into the cage. Using a small piece of wood, he pokes at the parrot, playing with it

.“Would you like to talk about your dream?”

The next thirty minutes pass like this. Fr. Damien speaks slowly, he listens tenderly, and he smiles generously. The young boy has taken a special place in his heart. For two months after the disaster, Saveri had not spoken. Struck mute by the shock of his loss, he could not open up. He could not enjoy the company of his remaining three siblings or the comfort of his grandmother.

But Fr. Damien would not be deterred. He returned week after week to check on the boy. With patience and tact, he slowly earned Saveri’s trust. Soon, they were speaking. Upon hearing the boy’s voice, Fr. Damien silently thanked God for the blessing.

Fr. Damien explained: “The grief is often too much, especially for children. Our counseling programs help them open up, to become social again. It is very trying, and emotionally straining, to see them in these circumstances. They have lost so much. But if we can get them to play, if we can get them to hope and then to heal, then we have made a small difference.”

One year later, Saveri is a very different young boy. Playful and bright, he runs through the sandy streets with his sisters and brother, as they laugh about childish things. Fr. Damien thrills at seeing the children bounce back. “It gives hope to the adults. If they can see that the children are strong enough to survive, then the adults are inspired to survive as well.”

Now, when Fr. Damien visits, Saveri tells jokes. He talks about things that eight-year-olds talk about, and Fr. Damien feels the joy of success. But their conversations, although wonderful, are not even the most wonderful point. Because now, it is not uncommon to see the boy’s face light brilliantly with a smile, a sight which means more than any words.

And at night, when Saveri sleeps, he still returns to the sea. He watches the waves as they churn, but now he is not so afraid.