“I see the mothers.
Holding her child’s hand on one side, and a gun made for a soldier on the other.
I see the mothers.
Walking down roads unknown to her, carrying her children, her belongings, and her worries – all at the very same time.
I see the mothers.
Sitting on the floor of hospital basements, whether it’s giving birth to her first child, tending to her precious newborn, or sitting at the ‘bedside’ of her unwell children.
I see the mothers.
Running away to a life unknown in hopes of solace and safety, while having no choice but to leave behind pieces of her heart in the shape of husbands, fathers, brothers – even sons.
I see the mothers.
Carrying a gun in her arms (and the world on her shoulders) just to get to the grocery store on the corner to see what’s left to buy for dinner.
I see the mothers.
Having no choice but to sit in the chaos of train stations, bus stops, and roadsides, during nap time and mealtime, and bedtime.
I see the mothers.
Reading bedtime stories in dark, dreary basements for the sake of normalcy, while shelling and missiles outside their walls scream anything but normal.
I see the mothers.
Still loving on their children, and still showing up for their children…
But now to a life that they never imagined in their scariest, wildest dreams.
I see the mothers.
I see them silently praying, loudly loving, unapologetically surviving.
I see them still being moms.
I see the mothers
I am sure that if the mothers of various nations could meet, there would be no more wars.
-EM Forester”
This story was submitted to Love What Matters by Heather Delaney of Love Always, Heather. You can follow her journey on Facebook and Instagram. Be sure to subscribe to our free email newsletter for our best stories.
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