Grieving Iraq

I spent this morning with the kids at a friend’s gym, enjoying the fitness center and large outdoor pool. It was an easy morning, full of relaxation and contentment. I felt lighthearted and carefree.

Afterwards I came home, sent the kids to their room for rest time and sat down and scrolled through my Facebook feed. And my happy little world crashed down around me.

It’s been a long time since I’ve sobbed because of something I read in the news. Today it was a report about what is happening in Iraq. It is indescribably atrocious.

At first I read it as I read most things on Facebook, a bit distracted and disconnected. I shared it and continued with what I was doing. Then when my husband got home and I tried to tell him about it, I was suddenly crushed with the weight of what I was saying, and I fell apart.

I cried because of the injustice of it all – my kids enjoying a pool while someone else’s kids are dying of thirst.
I cried because of the mamas just like me whose babies are being beheaded just to make a point.
I cried because of the picture of a small boy who had died in the mountains – a boy the same size as my son.
I cried because I couldn’t stop picturing my own children out there on the mountain, too young to fully understand what is happening, scared and alone. And dying.
I cried because of the overwhelming darkness and weight of such pure evil.
I cried because of the complete and total helplessness I feel about what is happening in this world.
I cried because it was the only thing I could do in that moment.

I have been able to think about little else since then. I write this now because I can’t stop thinking about Iraq.

I can’t protect those innocent children from being killed. I can’t hold them and rock them and tell them it’s going to be okay. I can’t sing to them or tickle them and make them laugh. So today I held my own babies. I thanked God that it wasn’t them. I prayed for the mamas and daddies of the dying children. I begged God to intervene … to do something … anything to stop it. Or if not, to hurry up and come back and redeem this mess we’ve created.

The helplessness I feel tonight is similar to what I felt when my dad was dying. I am overwhelmed with grief. I remember another post I wrote just because I felt helpless and didn’t know what else to do. I can’t do anything but somehow writing helps just a little bit. It doesn’t change anything, but it gives me a place to express my rage and frustration and sadness and grief over the state of this world.

I know this genocide isn’t the first and that there are children dying every day all over the world.

But for some reason, this one broke me.