Day 93

Last night on the news there were multiple stories about the war in Ukraine. Several were focused on the humanitarian aspect. People sheltering below ground; people fleeing; the huge influx of refugees to Poland and other countries. One snippet really hit home: It was video of a young woman - maybe late 20s - kind of mumble-weeping while rocking back and forth holding a small child. Her child. According to the reporter, this was the son or daughter that had survived the Russian attack; her other child had been killed. It was clear from the video, the woman was in shock. Heavily traumatized. Her muttering all too familiar. It reminded me of the state I was in the day that Damian had died. Those first few hours after I found him. 

What I don't know is if it would have been better, worse or the same to have had another child in that moment. Would the knowledge that I still have a surviving son or daughter have assuaged any of my grief? It probably wouldn't have made any difference but that's just a guess (obviously). Of course my circumstance is vastly different than it is for this woman. No one is driving me from my home with tanks, guns and bombs. I'm not having to worry about where I will sleep tonight. What I will eat tomorrow. Whether or not there is a bullet or bomb out there with my name on it. No, I sleep peacefully in the warmth and comfort of my own bed and home without any real concern for my safety. And yet, I want to relate to this woman. We've both lost something priceless and irreplaceable. Through my eyes and ears I can feel her grief. Her anguish. Feel like I can almost touch it. 

It's amazing what we take for granted until we don't have it any more...