One Foot in Front of the Other

I have been much occupied with the tragic Joplin tornado and the news thereof. Those of us in the midwest and especially those of us who have experienced near misses with tornadoes are drawn to such activities every spring when one strikes nearby.
We had an F-4/5 tornado whisk over Liberty a few years back. I say "whisk" because it bounced across the area and destroyed a bit and rose up again (I think responding to the hilly terrain) and then came back down sweeping clean houses from their foundations or heaping shards of lumber into piles where there were once homes. That event forever changed how I looked at tornadoes. I am an avid weather watcher and found myself outside staring skyward whenever we were told to take cover.  Ben joined me in this hobby. It was a good way to pass the time together commenting on various cloud formations as they passed, noting any wind changes, precipatation and other weathery things. On that particular day in May I sent the family to the basement and set about to reload the dryer to squeeze another load from it before the electricity went out due to the storm. I heard the classic freight train noise, went to the north window and looked toward William Jewell college and found I couldn't see my daughter's house across the driveway and, second shock, the reason why was the debris caught up in the air - everything from dirt to  chunks of wood was blowing about. It belatedly occurred to me that standing at a window facing the storm and debris was none too smart. I remember that thought every time I hear the tornado sirens go off  That vulnerability is now a part of my storm experiences.
Well, I watched Brian Williams and a parade of newsfolk descend upon Joplin and report  the magnitude of the aftermath of the storm for several days . On what I believe was one of his last interviews he talked with a young woman whose husband lost his life saving hers. He commented at the close of the story about her being one of the people who were trying to go on by putting one foot in front of the other. I found tears rolling down my face. I understand that feeling as I never did before. I thought I did get it prior to this spring, but I didn't. It seems almost cliche, even glib. Trust me, it's not. I met that reality and when you are devastated you literally put all your mental energy, your focus, into the act of moving one foot after the other, one step at a time. It is impossible to plan farther  ahead - "What are you going to do this afternoon, tomorrow, next week?"  I didn't know. I could only go a step at a time quite literally.
I wonder if Brian Williams knows how right he was.