After the unforgettably initial shock， he remembered the promise he had made to his son： "No matter what， I"ll always be there for you！" And tears began to fill his eyes. As he looked at the pile of ruins that once was the school， it looked hopeless， but he kept remembering his commitment to his son.
He began to direct his attention towards where he walked his son to class at school each morning. Remembering his son"s classroom would be in the back right corner of the building， he rushed there and started digging through the ruins.
As he was digging， other helpless parents arrived， clutching their hearts， saying： "My son！" "My daughter！" Other well-meaning parents tried to pull him off what was left of the school， saying： "It"s too late！ They"re all dead！ You can"t help！ Go home！ Come on， face reality， there"s nothing you can do！"
To each parent he responded with one line： "Are you going to help me now？" And then he continued to dig for his son， stone by stone. The fire chief showed up and tried to pull him off the school"s ruins saying， "Fires are breaking out， explosions are happening everywhere. You"re in danger. We"ll take care of it. Go home." To which this loving， caring American father asked， "Are you going to help me now？"
The police came and said， "You"re angry， anxious and it"s over. You"re endangering others. Go home. We"ll handle it！" To which he replied， "Are you going to help me now？" No one helped.
Courageously he went on alone because he needed to know for himself： "Is my boy alive or is he dead？" He dug for eight hours...12 hours...24 hours...36 hours...then， in the 38th hour， he pulled back a large stone and heard his son"s voice. He screamed his son"s name， "ARMAND！" He heard back， "Dad！？！ It"s me， Dad！ I told the other kids not to worry. I told them that if you were alive， you"d save me and when you saved me， they"d be saved. You promised， No matter what happens， I"ll always be there for you！ You did it， Dad！"
"What"s going on in there？ How is it？" the father asked.
"There are 14 of us left out of 33， Dad. We"re scared， hungry， thirsty and thankful you"re here. When the building collapsed， it made a triangle， and it saved us."
"Come out， boy！"
"No， Dad！ Let the other kids out first， because I know you"ll get me！ No matter what happens， I know you"ll always be there for me！"
1989年，一次8.2级的地震几乎铲平美国，在短短不到4分钟的时间里，夺去了3万多人的生命！
在彻底的破坏与混乱之中，有位父亲将他的妻子在家里安顿好后，跑到他儿子就读的学校，而触目所见，却是被夷为平地的校园。
看到这令人伤心的一幕，他想起了曾经对儿子所作的承诺：“不论发生什么事，我都会在你身边。”至此，父亲热泪满眶。目睹曾经的学校成为了一堆瓦砾，真叫人绝望。但父亲的脑中仍然牢记着他对儿子的诺言。
他开始努力回忆每天早上送儿子上学的必经之路，终于记起儿子的教室应该就在那幢建筑物后面，位于右边的角落里，他跑到那儿，开始在碎石砾中挖掘，搜寻儿子的下落。
当这位父亲正在挖掘时，其他束手无策的学生家长赶到现场，揪心地叫着：“我的儿子呀！”“我的女儿呀！”一些好意的家长试图把这位父亲劝离现场，告诉他“一切都太迟了！他们全死了！这样做没用的，回去吧，这样做只会使事情更糟”。面对种种劝告，这位父亲的回答只有一句话：“你们愿意帮我吗？”然后继续进行挖掘工作，在废墟中寻找他的儿子。
消防队长出现了，他也试图把这位父亲劝走，对他说：“火灾频现，四处都在发生爆炸，你在这里太危险了，这边的事我们会处理，你回家吧！”对此，这位慈爱、关切的父亲仍然回答：“你们要帮我吗？”
警察赶到现场，对他说：“你现在又气又急，该结束了，你在危及他人，回家吧！我们会处理一切的。”这位父亲依旧回答：“你们愿意帮我吗？”然而，人们无动于衷。
为了弄清楚儿子是死是活，这位父亲独自一人鼓起勇气，继续进行他的工作。
他挖掘了8小时，--12小时，24小时，36小时--38小时后，父亲推开了一块巨大的石头，听到了儿子的声音。父亲尖叫着：“阿曼德！”儿子的回音听到了：“爸爸吗？是我，爸爸，我告诉其他的小朋友不要着急。我告诉他们如果你活着，你会来救我的。如果我获救了，他们也就获救了。你答应过我，不论发生什么，我永远都会在你的身边， 你做到了，爸爸！”
“你那里的情况怎样？”父亲问。
“我们有33个，只有14个活着。爸爸，我们好害怕，又渴又饿，谢天谢地，你在这儿。教室倒塌时，刚好形成一个三角形的洞，救了我们。”
“快出来吧！儿子！”
“不，爸，让其他小朋友先出来吧！因为我知道你会接我的！不管发生什么事，我知道你永远都会来到我的身边！”
Crocus
番红花
It was an autumn morning shortly after my husband and I moved into our first house. Our children were upstairs unpacking， and I was looking out the window at my father moving around mysteriously on the front lawn. My parents lived nearby， and Dad had visited us several times already. "What are you doing out there？” I called to him.
He looked up， smiling. "I "m making you a surprise. " Knowing my father， I thought it could be just about anything. A self-employed jobber， he was always building things out of odds and ends. When we were kids， he once rigged up a jungle gym out of wheels and pulleys. For one of my Halloween parties， he created an electrical pumpkin and mounted， it on a broomstick. As guests came to our door， he would light the pumpkin and have it pop out in front of them from a hiding place in the bushes.
Today， however， Dad would say no more， and， caught ups in the busyness of our new life， I eventually forgot about his surprise.
Until one raw day the following March when I glanced out the window. Dismal. Overcast. Little piles of dirty snow still stubbornly littering the lawn， Would winter ever end？
And yet...was it a mirage？ I strained to see what I thought was something pink， miraculously peeking out of a drift. And was that a dot of blue across the yard， a small note of optimism in this gloomy expanse？ I grabbed my coat and. headed outside for a closer look.
They were crocuses， scattered whimsically throughout the front lawn. Lavender， blue， yellow and my favorite pink-little faces bobbing in the bitter wind.
Dad. I smiled， remembering the bulbs he had secretly planted last autumn. He knew how the darkness and dreariness of winter always got me down. What could have been more perfectly timed， more attuned to my needs？ How blessed I was， not only for the flowers but for him.
My father" s crocuses bloomed each spring for the next four or five seasons， bringing that same assurance every time they arrived： Hard times almost over. Hold on， keep going， light is coming soon.
Then a spring came with only half the usual blooms. The next spring there were none. I missed the crocuses， but my life was busier than ever， and I had never been much of a gardener. I would ask Dad to come over and plant new bulbs. But I never did.
He died suddenly one October day. My family grieved deeply， leaning on our faith. I missed him terribly， though I knew he would always be a part of us.
Four years passed， and on a dismal spring afternoon I was running errands and found myself feeling depressed. You"ve got the winter blahs again， I told myself. You get them every year.
It was Dad " s birthday， and I found myself thinking about him. This was not unusual--my family often talked about him， remembering how he lived his faith. Once I saw him give his coat to a homeless man. Often he " d chat with strangers， and if he learned they were poor and hungry， he would invite them home for a meal. But now， in the car， I could not help wondering： How is he now？ Where is he？ Is there really a heaven？