No Child Should Ever Be a Victim of the War

Every day I look at my baby, I look into his eyes, and I wish that every child in this world received same love as I give my baby every day, every hour, every minute, every second. No censorship anymore, media is telling us all. Everywhere we turn and look, everywhere we hear, children die - accidents, sickness, diseases, murders, abuse, hunger, poverty and war.

'A little girl playing outside her home in the dirty sand. Assembling a small structure from small pebbles and dry sticks, and a leaf, and some dirty sand. Her golden hair is getting in the way. With little hand she moves her hair off her eyes, with the other hand she is trying to keep the pebble wall to stand. Her face is getting dirty, her blue eyes are full of tears, she is struggling to put her little farm together. A boy near by runs around with a stick and a string attached to it. It is his homemade fishing rod. Suddenly dark flying machines are flying over the girl's and boy's head. They look up. Oh, not again - they know. Bombing starts. Noise is unbearable. More wind with dirty sand. The boy somehow escapes in the potato fields. Lays there half covered in the sand and scattered around potatoes. He is scared. He follows asleep. As he opens his eyes, he looks around. He is safe. People are talking. The little girl stands in the middle of the field, dirty sand is hitting her small gentle body, but she stands there like a little trooper. She is not moving. She is looking at her little farm falling now apart. She wants to reach out for the falling pebble wall, but she cannot. A man grabs her small body. Pulls her to his chest. He holds her tight. He is protecting her. Its too late. Her eyes never opened again. Next morning she dies. She dies from shock. People are crying.'

The little girl is a victim of the WWII. This little girl in the above story is also my dad's sister, she was only 5 years old. She died of shock. Even though the story is dramatized a bit by me and enhanced, I am sure that in the real time, it was even more dramatic then I could ever describe. At later time, my dad's another, only month old sister also dies. Result of local bombing, falling off the bed, trauma and shock to the little fragile body.

WWII indirectly killed many innocent children, unrecorded, never mentioned. Unmarked small wooden crosses deteriorated over time. Burial grounds became empty fields filled with tall green grass swaying left and right. The little lost souls dance forever in the wind.

This Christmas as we celebrate this glorious day, let us remember those little souls that never got to enjoy the small presents, home baked cookies, warmth of the fire place, Santa Clause, and love.

"Love is what's in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and listen. "
~ Author unknown, attributed to a 7-year-old named Bobby