I wrote this just over a week ago:
We are entering the last week of Ramadan soon. M is fasting a few days this year. I find it hard to believe myself that my first-born is almost eight years old now. I remember when I was eight. She is a complete human being with her own thoughts, emotions and a mind. Its mindboggling for me even now! A tries to copy her in many things, but she has a mind of her own as well. She is a strong headed girl with a soft heart. And Baby Z - she is a complete delight. She is a kisseable bundle of joy who makes all of our days better. This Ramadan has rushed past with the three of them at home, my new job, trying to handle life and myself. But this Ramadan has also been heavy as I scroll through the photos and videos coming out of Palestine. Just the other day, I saw a photo of a baby girl, who was murdered. She must've been the same age as Z as her toes looked like Z's size. Every time I close my eyes I see those toes. I can't fathom how her mother is feeling, or even whether she is alive right now, or whether she was murdered as well.
And now, the day after Eid, it doesn't feel any better. I read about a Gaza doctor who was cutting off new clothes from dead children's bodies, on Eid day, because they were killed by IDF. I saw a video of an elderly man who started to cry after seeing someone he loves in a body bag, on Eid day.
It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.
