They sit there. On little patches of dusty dirt. In diapers and t-shirts.
Who is changing the diapers? I wonder.
They look around. Are they wondering where she is? Where is my mother? Why has she left me?
Who is doing the reassuring? Who is holding them in their arms for comfort? I wonder.
I can’t watch the coverage.
I can’t stomach the pictures.
I am weak like that.
These little children. Babies. Left alone to look around and see the images themselves.
Body parts sticking out of rubble. People piled up on the roads.
The smell.
If they are lucky and survive, how will they move forward? Will they ever be whole? I wonder if that’s even possible.
I want to walk up to each one of them sitting on their patch of dirt and scoop them up. Bring them home. Hold them for a long time in my arms and try to transfer some love. Whisper reassuring words that all will be ok.
There may not be anyone to do this. To tell them how special they are. To share their stories with them about the day they were born. To love them in the way that only their mother does.
My heart is breaking for each of them.
Give what you can. Remember them in your prayers tonight.
I wonder what more we can do.
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