Questions, observations, and hope

All I can see when I close my eyes are piles of debris and tree trunks with no bark and no branches.
I was only there for 48 hours. 
What is it like for those who never leave? 
What if it was my life thrown all over the town? 
Would I care about the things I think are important now?
I wonder who they will never find. 
I wonder if the miracles will outweigh the tragedies.
The horror some endured is difficult to put into words.  Those who had loved ones ripped from them or had someone sacrifice their bodies to protect them.  Will they be able to continue on?
It makes me think about making space in my life. 
Space to spare in my time, my home, my heart, my finances.  A tragedy in my life or others can be weathered collectively if each person has a little space to give something.
The affects of this should be deeper than appreciating what you have or loving your family more.  It's bigger then that, deeper then that. 
Everyone will have a story in this. 
Myself included, but I'm struggling with where my story fits. 
How do I express what I feel without making those who actually experienced it the background of my own experience?  All the focus should be on those who lost, not those who helped.
My emotions are empathy, not a cause of having to actually 
endure the storm.
I did not suffer but my heart hurts and my eyes cry.
I hope my tears are from someone who hasn't cried yet.
That somehow my tears will miraculously ease the heart of another.
If only it worked like blood donations. 
I would donate my tears to someone who isn't able to cry in the midst of their personal tragedy.
I don't have any pictures from this weekend, except for a few I took on my phone.  What you see on the news is accurate, but it doesn't seem to touch on the expanse of the destruction. 
As we cleared debris away each day, if I kept my head down, looking for something important, sifting through and shoveling the wreckage, it felt like the task was doable.  Then I would look up and for as far as we could see there were mounds of what was left.
The neighborhood we were in is where they believe the tornado became an EF5.  You could tell when you looked back south and west.  You could see the edges of the damage, but then suddenly the outer edges of the destruction were not visible when you looked north or south. 
It was hard to leave.  We loved living in Joplin.  We had wonderful friends, great memories and grew so much as a family and couple in that town.  We talked briefly about moving back. 
There is always hope.  Hope for individuals and hope for communities.  We truly saw the best in people this weekend.  Food came by from different places every couple hours.  Individuals drove through offering water and snacks.  Every corner had cases of water stacked up for the officers working the intersections or workers clearing debris. 
I feel like I got more from this community then we were able to give in a few short days.  I'm so glad that we were able to be there.