Puerto Rico's endless waiting game
The silence coming from home has a texture. There's anxiety in it, as we on the mainland wait for any word from relatives trapped on the small prison island known as Puerto Rico.
There's fear in it: Close your eyes and you see your aunts and cousins, abuelos and nieces scramble for clean water to drink and wash with; your sick family members unable to find medicine for their diabetes or high blood pressure; no food for anyone; no money in the ATMs; no safe roads into or out of town; no electricity to clean the mounting sewage or cool the unbearably hot living rooms; no Wi-Fi to help them touch base with the rest of the world; no cellphones
