War is Not the Answer

There is no medication or surgery or miracle that will ever allow these children to have what most of us imagine to be a "normal" life. There will be no softness of a parent's touch, no milestones celebrated, no choices made, no personal space or belongings, no variation in food or surroundings. Many never have or ever will see the sky or feel the wind.

These wounds of war will never heal.

Being in the midst of such suffering can bring on what feels like an ocean of sadness. It's in our nature to flinch, to turn away and to replace feelings with thoughts. We often find ourselves using words to sooth ourselves through rationalizations, rather then risk feeling too much and loosing our footing to the undertow.

A paradox perhaps, but in surrendering and allowing ourselves to be carried to the depths, we just may find the place that holds our deepest healing.

Maybe peace comes when we are able to accept that there are far more questions here then there will ever be answers. Maybe when we realize that while these children manifest the physical wounds of war, the spiritual wounds are imprinted on each and every one of us, as members of the human family.

And when we dive deep enough to recognize the gifts that lie within the distorted DNA that makes these children uniquely who they are, we see that they are messengers of hope. They teach us forgiveness, resilience, presence and unconditional love.

And they remind us that war is never the answer.

Grateful for another day in Room 1

My work day begins at 7:30 AM as I climb the wide and winding stairway to the 3rd floor of the TuDu Hospital. Nearing the top, familiar sounds and smells remind me where I am, and why I've come. I smile, grateful for the gift of another day in Room 1, home to 8 children ranging in age from 3-7.

A portable table tub is rolled into the room and each body is bathed, every head of hair lathered and rinsed, teeth are brushed, beds are stripped, disinfected and remade. Fresh towels, clothes and diapers are laid out, ready to receive the precious little bodies who form a most unique family - the children of Peace Village.

I've developed a little ritual around my daily task of preparing the beds. These 3' by 5' cribs are the only personal space each child knows. It's their vantage point from where they view the world, it's where they retreat to when they're sad, and where they're put when they are punished and it's where they dream their dreams. These cribs are sacred space! So I imagine a smudging ceremony as I clean each vinyl mattress, wiping away anything that stands in the way of these children becoming all they were born to be and clearing space for beginning a new day. Fitting the four corners of the light blue sheet over the mattress, I offer words of hope and blessings for each child. Eight times.

The only furniture in the room are eight small metal cribs, a metal cabinet which holds clothing and diapers, and a deep metal sink, so we spend most of the day sitting and playing on the floor. Personal belongings don't exist, even clothing is shared. Every once in a while a stray toy appears, but most of the time it's just person to person contact and interaction. Older children from other rooms come into check on the younger ones, to bring them treats, and occasionally to start trouble. Universal characteristics of childhood are alive and well as imaginations run wild, games are invented, songs are sung, wrestling matches break out, feelings get hurt, tantrums are thrown, tears are shed and the giggles are gotten. Kids being kids!

About 10 AM rolling carts holding big pots of food arrive from the hospital kitchen. Meals consist of a bowl of pureed food per child. Several children are learning to feed themselves, and the others are spoon fed. Severe medical issues confine two children in Room 1 to their beds and they receive liquid nourishment through tubes.

Everyone sleeps from around 11 AM -1 PM. The children in their cribs, and nurses on mats on the floor.

I've been spending some time each afternoon with the older kids who hang out in the wide hallway, one side of which is large open air windows looking down on a busy clinic.  There is only 1 wheel chair which is used to transport kids to appointments. So those who have no legs or on use of their legs use plastic chairs to scoot around on, and they are masters at maneuvering. There's always a small group who line up to watch cartoons on the TV that hangs from the ceiling. It doesn't take long to learn the personalities, quirks and gifts unique to each child.

The second meal arrives around 3 PM. After all the children are fed and settled back into their cribs, I make my rounds to each child saying good bye until tomorrow. Then I head home. Filled to the brim,
and grateful for another day in Room 1.