That day will come...

The day will come when one of my children will ask to be told the whole story, when one of them will want to know the truth. That day is the day I dread the most. I dread it because in that moment the world as they know it will drastically change and become the word as we know it.

I believe in kindness, truthfulness and honesty. I believe in equality and most of all I believe in coexistence and peace. I want to believe that most people are good and that the good will always pre vale. I want to believe this so badly... but the truth is I can't. I was ten years old when I found out that having a different name can mean the difference between life and death, that the basement is the safest place in my home and that a "camp" and a "convoy" have no longer the same meaning as they did before. I won't share the whole story here this is not why I intended this post to be about. We were refugees, immigrants, permeant residents and finally new Americans. We have been blessed to have found a good life in a safe place and where people welcomed us with open arms. This is deeply valued in my heart and the hearts of my family and friends. However, I can't help but feel a deep nostalgia when I can't go and visit my "home" in Bosnia. This year was especially hard since we got to spend a few weeks visiting last summer and all the memories are still fresh. I can't help but think what my life would have been like if only...

I dread the day when my sons ask to be told the whole story, when they learn about violence and real guns that kill people and leaving home and not knowing where you're going. That I dread the most! I wish that I could shelter them from ever finding out, but I can't. However, I will pour every ounce of my being into making compassionate caring people out of them.