At the feet of terror


I sit here on my soft, cushioned chair, comfortable in an air conditioned room, satisfied that dinner is on the stove ready to be cooked and then eaten, while my children play amongst a room laden with toys and suddenly, I’m anguished at it all.  All of it.  I hate that I can pick up my mobile phone at 3am in the morning and scroll through stupid facebook to attempt to keep myself awake while I feed our chubby 6 week old baby.  I’m sad that while I can lay my head on a fluffy pillow, safe and secure behind closed doors in my husband’s arms, that countless numbers of human beings, sweet, innocent little children – real people like us – are living a nightmare that plenty of us wouldn’t have the courage to endure.  I sit here and fight back tears, while images of little children sprawled out on the ground with nothing, fleeing a land full of despair, chaos and utter hatred – a scene that haunts their every waking and sleeping moments – a scene that is unimaginable for us who haven’t experienced it, play over in my mind.  Imagine if that was you, your child, your family.

I hate that while my child is screaming in a pile on the ground because I gave him the blue cup and not the green one that some of those people are lucky to eat today.  It breaks my heart to hear of mothers prolonged labours, giving birth to their precious babies in those awful circumstances and surroundings, only for them to be born dead and thrown into the depths of the ocean.  Imagine if that was your baby.

I look away so often and ignore the stories, won’t watch the news, don’t want to know anything about it because it’s too hard.  I don’t want to see their terror, feel their despair, be accountable for anything they are going through.  It’s easier that way.  I’m comfortable that way.  I can turn our silly big TV off at night, go to my cozy bed and close my eyes at night and think about my life, safe, here with my family.

I hate that we can’t take them all and help them.  I hate the hatred they are so desperately trying to flee, I hate the images I see plastered on the news and social media that haunt me constantly, but most of all, I hate that the horrid way I feel about this whole desperate situation doesn’t even compare to the way those beautiful people who were once full of life and hope are feeling right now – today, tomorrow, and the unkown days that lie before them.