It has been two years since I first encountered that haunting image of a small child lying face down on the shore, and I still cannot erase it from my mind. Initially, I avoided the photograph, not wanting to intrude on another family’s heartbreak. I believed that simply hearing the story would suffice.
But when I came across a headline that corrected the child’s name from Aylan to Alan Kurdi, I knew I had to confront my own sorrow. I looked at the image, realizing that Alan had a mother who had named him with love and intention, just as I had with my own son. I looked because while I sat in my living room watching my children play, Alan’s mother had tragically drowned while trying to protect him.
I didn’t just glance at the photo; I took time to absorb it, honoring the weight it carried. I noticed Alan had recently had a haircut and wondered about the moments leading up to that day. I imagined his mother helping him put on his shoes, picturing whether he insisted on doing it himself, as any three-year-old might. In my mind, I transformed Alan’s dark features into my son’s fair skin and blonde hair and asked myself the question that haunted every mother who saw that picture: What if it were my child?
It’s a question that weighs heavily on the heart. Each time I read about families escaping war or a mother sifting through debris after an attack, I find myself pondering the same thought. What if it were my baby?
For many of us in America, it’s difficult to grasp what it would mean to live in a besieged city. We struggle to imagine our familiar neighborhoods—filled with shops, parks, and schools—reduced to rubble. The concept of profound insecurity, of watching a country disintegrate and feeling utterly helpless, is beyond our comprehension. Most cannot fathom the desperation that drives a mother to place her children in a fragile boat, knowing it may capsize, simply because it is her only option.
How do mothers in such dire situations find the strength to cope? I know how deeply it hurts to see my own children sad or frightened. They rely on me to guide them through their fears. But in a world filled with chaos and uncertainty, how does a mother maintain her composure? How does she nurture her children when she herself is engulfed in fear and sorrow? What can she offer them when security is a distant memory?
What if it were my child? I ponder what sacrifices I would make to keep my kids safe. What risks would I take? What lengths would I go to ensure they could live without fear? The truth is, none of us can answer these questions until we face them head-on.
Instead of succumbing to despair, I focus on what I can do to support these mothers. If I were in their shoes, what would I need?
I would want my struggles to be recognized. I would crave compassion and understanding. I would seek any assistance possible to instill a sense of hope in my children. I would want to show them that despite the violence and horror surrounding us, there are people who care. I’d want to tell them, “Look, this is humanity in action. These individuals reaching out to us exemplify what it means to love one another in times of despair.”
As mothers living in stable environments, we must be the ones to extend a helping hand to those whose lives have been shattered by conflict. Each time I empathize with mothers facing unimaginable choices, my heart aches. With every image of a frightened child and every story of families seeking refuge, the question reverberates in my mind: What if it were my child? What if it were yours?
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In summary, as mothers, we must strive to understand the experiences of those in desperate situations. Empathy is a powerful tool that can guide us in providing support and hope to others. By putting ourselves in their shoes, we can foster a sense of community and compassion.