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Survivors of Haiti’s 2010 quake and those who lost loved ones at the Hotel Montana say they are forever bound by a shared tragedy that unfolded over three months as workers recovered bodies from the debris of the five-story hotel.

Once popular with foreign visitors, the hotel became a symbol of the disaster, its pancaked ruins shown frequently on TV. Eighty people, including 17 Americans, died there.

Those affected by the Montana tragedy say the year has been one of change, grief, acceptance and a recommitment to helping Haiti. They had a year of sadness, some marking birthdays and holidays for the first time with a loved one missing. For those who survived the collapse, it’s been a year of accepting that they lived while many others died.

Unshaken

“This was clearly one of those events that separates your life before and after,” says Woolley, 40, of Colorado Springs. Woolley spent 65 hours trapped in a pitch-black elevator shaft near the lobby. He was in the country to document the work of Compassion International, a Christian charity.

Woolley’s story became known for the blood-stained goodbye notes he wrote to his wife and two small boys in case he was not rescued. He used a first-aid app on his iPhone to treat his injuries. He spent the past year writing a book, Unshaken: Rising from the Ruins of Haiti’s Hotel Montana. He calls it a testament to the power of faith in difficult circumstances.

He was pulled out through the elevator shaft in a dramatic rescue by firefighters from Fairfax County, Va. He had a broken foot and a head injury. His colleague, David Hames, died. Woolley met his rescuers in June and visited them in December.

“I’ve had to wrestle with, do I celebrate?” he says. “Do I celebrate getting back with my family? Do I walk around morose because there was so much tragedy there? Rightly or wrongly, what I landed on is both.”

On Wednesday, Woolley was back in Haiti for the first time. He met with Gulley and other survivors at the hotel, which is being rebuilt. The only parts of the 145-room hotel left standing were a conference room and a few apartments.

Gulley, a Methodist minister, was trapped in another part of the lobby with five colleagues. He and Woolley could not see each other, but they talked about their faith and their families, giving each other courage during moments when rescue seemed unlikely, Woolley says.

Gulley’s group was underground for 55 hours. Two of his co-workers died.

Gulley, 65, of Frisco, Colo., says his experience deepened his commitment to Haiti. He has returned eight times, working with the church to help farmers.

“I serve God by serving people,” Gulley says. “Why would an earthquake change that?”

A new normal

The Gengel family is dealing with their loss by honoring the last wish of their oldest child. Britney texted her mother a few hours before the earthquake to say she had found her calling: She wanted to build an orphanage in Haiti.

As a student at Lynn University in Boca Raton, Fla., Britney, 19, was in Haiti to work in orphanages. Three other Lynn students and two professors also were killed in the Montana.

Now her family plans to build the orphanage Britney dreamed of running. They started a foundation, Be Like Brit, to raise money for it. The 19,000-square-foot building will be in the shape of a B, says Len Gengel, 50.

They have the land overlooking a bay in Grand Goâve, a fishing village Britney was to visit on her trip, about an hour from the capital. Her parents hope to open the orphanage by 2012. They say it will have space for 33 girls and 33 boys — commemorating the 33 days Britney was under the rubble before her body was found.

“Any time you lose a child it’s unfathomable,” he says. “As her father, I feel an obligation to honor her wish.”

Lisa Birch, 47, is helping the Gengels, making blankets for the children to help them feel protected, she says.

“My heart is forever in Haiti, good, bad and ugly,” Birch says. “They need our help. This is personal to us.”

Jim Birch, 50, was in Haiti on a business trip. In the year since his death, Lisa and their daughter, Megan, moved from Modesto, Calif., to Seattle to be closer to relatives.

It’s been a year of emotional ups and downs. Just in the past week, Lisa Birch says, she was finally ready to put the photos from their last family Christmas in a scrapbook.

“We’ve gotten to the point where we know we have to stand on our own two feet,” she says.

Still, nights are especially hard. “It’s lonesome,” she says. “It’s forever.”

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Article extracted from usatoday.com