Quoting from the blog Syndicating Freedom. Please visit the site for the full post.
These are the faces that haunt me during the day. The faces that link the grief of the night to the grim daylight. This young boy.
Or the mother that wails over her son. Her cries echo in my silent moments. The father who carries his daughter in the streets, her blood soaking his shirt. It’s my tears that soak mine.
This grief. This grief. How do we overcome it? How do we begin to heal it?
(I can’t get the video to embed, but the link works which was uploaded February 11, 2012)
This is a video of a boy, he was found huddled in his attic in the protective embrace of his mother. His family all murdered and he somehow miraculously survived. Five days he sat huddled in his mothers arms, the water from the blown out tanks above flooding the room below he’s cramped in. His mind. His mind is shattered. He believes his family is on a trip, a trip to Saudi Arabia he says. The despair in his voice is clear. The loss too much for his young mind to bear. His eyes dark and his lips quiver unknowing the truth or desperately pretending the truth to be something it is not.