It doesn’t matter if you’re in a war zone, children shouldn’t die.
Today a suicide bomber woke up, strapped a bomb to himself and went to stand in line with other Afghans that were waiting to register themselves in order to vote in the elections later this year.
Today a mother woke up and fed her children and dressed them for school and walked down the sidewalk holding her son’s small hand.
Today another little girl put on her black coat on with the big buttons and her father helped her with her pink backpack and they headed out to school.
Today some U.S. Soldiers put on their helmets, strapped their guns across their chest and drove out of the compound in their Mine-Resistant Ambush Protected (MRAP) vehicle to provide security.
Today I slept in and went for a run on the treadmill here at the Resolute Support Headquarter.
I didn’t hear the explosion. I didn’t hear the cries, or the commotion.
I wasn’t there on the street to shout a word of warning as the young child started into the road.
I wasn’t there to console the mother who collapsed in grief.
There was so much tragedy today. Twitter was flooded with messages of condolence to the families of the over 50 people killed by the suicide bomber today. There was no censoring of the photos of children bloodied, injured and unconscious carried through the streets afterwards.
Or of the mother collapsed next to her presumably dead son.
In a different part of town crowds rioted in the street when a military vehicle accidently hit a young child on his lunch break from school. As the day turned to night, it still wasn’t 100% clear on whether he survived. My heart breaks for the family and for the soldiers that were driving the vehicle today.
I was so close today, and yet at the same time so far away.
There is something about humanity that when you know this sorrow is happening your whole soul attempts to pull out to surround those grieving.
