Because of the passage of time, as well as changes in culture, we no longer hold wakes of loved ones in the intimacy of homes, where certain rituals were followed according to one’s religion and traditions.

In our Catholic, Irish family, all would gather either on the steps, the walkway, or near the front door, to greet the deceased and begin the recitation of the rosary, which would continue non-stop through two or three days and nights.

While friends and relatives came to pay their respects to the deceased in the living room, visiting often took place in the dining room or kitchen.

The purple wreath on the door alerted passersby that a wake was being held in the home, and children would be reminded by their parents not to play in the area. Therefore, a wake became not only a family affair, but a neighborhood event, as well, providing an invisible shield of sympathy and comfort.

The priest would often come on the last night, lead the rosary and visit, then return the following morning to close the wake and accompany the deceased, family and friends to the parish church for the Requiem Mass.

Somehow, Katrina has brought back peace-filled memories of those family wakes, where we had time to grieve alone and apart, strengthened by the presence of loved ones. But for those who died in the hurricane, many alone and terrified, there have been no wakes, no caskets, no friends or families to grieve their deaths. no religious services, only body bags, unmarked and unclaimed.

More correct is it to say, however, as day followed day and the harrowing pictures appeared on the front pages of our newspapers, as well as through our TV sets, we began to experience a national wake, even, a world-wide one.

Although we could try to escape into the routine of days and nights, we could not, nor did most of us desire to do so. Regardless of the fact that we did not know the deceased, their suffering seared itself into our souls and made us one with them and their heartbroken loved ones, as we held our private wakes, weeping and praying, while asking the question the whole world is asking, “Why did it take so long to get help?”

My answer is summed up in two words: “absent shepherds.” Yes, of course, we all know how Christian are the politicians in the White House, with their prayer breakfasts, Bibles, and Sunday church services. But the fact is, they were not concerned about protecting the poor in their care, seeing that the citizens’ taxes were directed toward constantly inspecting and repairing the levees, the people’s first line of defense against catastrophe.

Even with the forecasts of drastic floods and the order to evacuate, buses stood idle, leaving the indigent, the mentally confused, the sick, and the hospitalized in harm’s way, without phones, food, water, electricity, or guidance to safe places from those appointed and handsomely paid to help them.

Of course, Michael Brown was more familiar with judging horse judges for the Arabian Horse Association than directing a rescue effort for those whose relationship with Arabian horses would be confined to library books.

Too bad President Bush hadn’t consulted Sen. Mary Landrieu, who knew a thing or two about the state she represented, and understood the dire consequences when the levees were breached: “As a person who had worked on the levee system for 20 years, I knew what that meant...It was just the most sinking feeling to know what was happening, even though television wasn’t saying it.”

(William Nelkirk, Chicago Tribune senior correspondent, Sept. 16, 2005)

One by one, we are learning of the true heroes in this tragedy, for the most part, unpaid civil servants, such as Deamonte Love, age six, our Holland’s Young Boy at the Dike, who held back the waters.

The waters Deamone held back were those of despair and shame over living in a nation where the most fragile among us were abandoned. This six-year- old looked around, saw children separated from their parents, and led them to safety. They included his five-month old brother, three toddlers in the 2-year old range, a 3-year old and her 14-month old brother.

Kathleen Parker, in her article, “A way out of the chaos,” (Chicago Tribune, September 14, 2005) tells us:

“All held hands as Deamonte led the group along Causeway Boulevard in New Orleans, where he identified himself and his associates to authorities. In a sea of helpless victims, while heartier adults dithered or complained, Deamonte found the guts and fortitude to take care of himself, his family and friends.”

Wouldn’t it be a wonderful testament to this miniature shepherd’s courage and love to erect a statue of him and his lambs in a restored New Orleans park, without an Arabian horse in sight?

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