We're still living our lives.

People in Port-au-Prince are still struggling for theirs.

I talked to my dad again yesterday.

The thing that stood out to me the most about our conversation was what he told me about the mass grave.

Several years ago, I spent a couple weeks in a village between Port-au-Prince and Saint Ard (where my family's mission is), called Titanyen.

That's where the mass grave is.

This village where I met some of my closest friends is now the site of a mass grave.

They're taking all the unidentified bodies there by dumptruck.

I can't imagine how it would feel to know that when you died, your body would be unceremoniously placed in a dumptruck among hundreds of others and deposited into a landfill.

photo credit: REUTERS

A family friend who's currently living in Indianapolis received word a few days ago that his entire family was killed in the earthquake. Unless he was able to go to Port-au-Prince immediately to identify them, they would be placed in the mass grave in Titanyen.

But he couldn't go. He doesn't have the means to fly down to Haiti on a moment's notice.

And even if he had been able to get there, where would he have stayed? His entire family is dead.

He had no choice but to allow his parents', siblings', and cousins' bodies to be taken to a virtual landfill.

My youngest brother had a relatively major surgery a month ago.

Yesterday, my dad talked to his best friend in Haiti on the phone. The first thing his friend, Jean-Marie, said, was, "How's Mitch doing since his surgery? We've been praying for him."

His entire world is literally falling apart, and he's concerning himself with the well-being of a spoiled American kid.

There's something amazing about the Haitian people.

A Haitian friend of mine said this the other day:

"Martin Luther said 'Christ plus nothing equals everything'. I guess we have everything."