groaning

Voices on the NPR news with Rene Montaigne pulled me from sleep this morning. I lay in bed for a while, hoping to be hearing dreams and not real voices reporting "the tens of thousands still stranded on rooftops and piers without food and water," the "rotting bodies" and "overcrowded hospitals where infectious diseases are becoming a serious risk," where they "have started to use an empty stairwell as an extra morgue," where "at night you hear gunshots and people are frantic." The national guard has orders to "shoot to kill" to ward off looters; the governor of Mississippi is disgusted with how little help has come. Three days after Katrina, the aftermath swells like an infected wound.
I stood up and took a few steps in the half dark and didn't know what to do. I just stood there, looking at the radio and at the wall, my night's rest outweighed by a tired heart.
"Father" I groaned.