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.

Welcome Anger

Being reunited with the children and staff at Peace Village was wonderful, but being reintroduced to the reality of how war continues to inflict suffering on children 30 - 40 years later is painful. I appreciate that this blog helps to deepen my experience and keeps me connected, but truthfully, there hasn't been much energy at the end of each day for writing, so it's  a slower process than I'd imagined. Thank you for bearing with me.

Anger has become my almost constant companion and she shows up frequently. Her hands weigh a ton as she places them on my shoulders when I stand beside the bed of a child who's head is swollen to more than 10 times the normal size. And she deposits a lump squarely in the middle of  my throat, making it difficult for me to swallow, as I spoon gruel into the mouth of a child who has no eyes.  She stings my eyes as I fight to hold back tears when the boy whose skin resembles the bark of a tree scoots his chair beside me and engages in piercing eye contact. And she lights a fire in my chest when I notice the adolescent girl whose body is beginning to grow breasts, but is incapable of ever growing arms.

So I've decided to befriend my Anger, knowing that she's real and was conceived and born out of truth. My truth.

And my truth tells me that it is wrong that the leadership of my country used it's most brilliant and talented minds to concoct the deadliest combinations of chemicals known to man. And then proceeded to spray more than 20,000,000 gallons of the substance mixed with jet fuel over the homeland of these children's ancestors. My truth tells me that a huge injustice will remain until the day the United States government and the chemical companies who manufactured  this deadly toxin step up to the plate, claim their own truth, and provide restitution. And my truth tells me that the responsibility has been misplaced onto the souls of American veterans who were forced to carry out these atrocities and have suffered years of torment, guilt and shame for simply doing what they were ordered to do.

To deny or engage Anger would only create more turmoil and conflict.... Allowing her to perpetuate war within myself. But by making her my ally she works with me. Instead of zapping my energy, she fuels my fire of inner knowing. She makes me even more certain that we are one human family capable of working together for peace - the best and the brilliant, hand in hand with the last and the least.

The first step for me is inner peace.

So.....Welcome my friend Anger. We're in this together!

Half A World Away

Here I am half way around the world with half a day difference in clock time between VN and my home in NY.  I always manage to forget just how long the trip takes. And I can never quite wrap my head around the fact that the US government sent more than 2 million men and women, plus all the helicopters, tanks, weaponry and supplies this distance to sustain 10 years of what is known here as the American War.

So I've settled into my little $10 a day room, with a view of the rooftops of Saigon, rested and ready to see my friends at Peace Village tomorrow. I find myself wondering if some of the children who were there last year might be gone now. The severity of their medical conditions precludes the option of adoption for most. So I realize that those who are missing will have most likely passed from this physical realm at some point in time during the 330 days while I was...half a world away.

Ironing

Two days until I leave home for a month. Waves of uneasiness come and go, making their way throughout my body. But in my heart I know I'm ready.

Yesterday I bought some very cute little clothes for the children in Peace Village. It was fun picking them out, imagining who might wear what. I brought them home and washed them, laughing to myself as I tried to remember how many years have passed since the inside of my washing machine had seen clothes that size.

And then I ironed them, knowing full well that taking the time to iron wasn't practical. There were so many other things I needed to be doing to prepare, and the wrinkles would surely return and multiply during the 9,000 mile journey. But I ironed them anyway, with as much care as I would when ironing for my own children. That's when my innermost knowing showed up reminding me that we are one human family, and that these are my children.

As the iron glided, and the wrinkles vanished, I fantasized about being able to remove the children's disfigurements and deformities with the same ease. And I found myself wondering about the little arms and legs that would soon be filling the fabric.

Thread crossing thread. Interwoven to create one piece. One peace.