But in the midst of the horror, it was the photograph of a little girlmore
with gold earrings that especially moved me. She was lying on the floor
of her house, alongside her brothers, sisters and mother, all of them
covered with bloodstained shrouds.
Perhaps that little girl entered my heart because when she died, my
husband and I were looking after our two little granddaughters while
their parents were traveling. It was my special role to wipe away their
every tear, to kiss every bump and cut, and to hold their precious
bodies close as I read them a story and prepared them for bed each
night.
When I saw that little girl's picture, I felt that if I had picked her
up she would have felt warm and soft like my granddaughters. But she
was dead and I could not bear the cruelty of it.
Monday, August 07, 2006
I could not bear the cruelty of it.
this from kathleen:
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3 comments:
just when i think i can't handle anymore (abu ghraib, gitmo, haditha, picking off civilians, raping and killing young Iraqi girls and murdering their families, Qana et al.) there comes something like this.
i don't have the words apart to say if i had my way, this would be front-paged in all major corporate media. i'm so not holding my breath though.
didja read the whole piece?
war is bad. how many different versions of this same story have occured in the past 5 years...
and for what?
yes i read the entire thing and immediately wished i hadn't.
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