I never intended to write about this. Honestly, it wasn’t my plan. My goal was to remain a quiet observer, to step back and appreciate the immense sacrifices made by others for this cause. I wanted to lend a hand in whatever small way I could and then retreat back into my own life, waiting until the next time it crossed my mind.
But lately, I find it difficult to think of anything else. I wake in the middle of the night with their faces haunting me—their weary eyes, their radiant smiles, their tears, the blend of fear and gratitude etched in their expressions.
Unexpected Conversations
It all began over dinner. After spending nearly the entire summer away, my family was thrilled to reconnect with our neighbors, to catch up on life, holidays, and the antics of our kids. However, our conversation quickly veered into unexpected territory. I imagine they felt the same way I do now—while life continues, there’s hardly anything else to focus on, nothing else to discuss. Even when you try to avoid the topic, it’s there, intruding upon your comfortable existence.
We were aware, of course, of the refugees fleeing Syria, Afghanistan, and Iraq, attempting to navigate through Hungary in their search for safety. Yet, our knowledge was limited to articles, news, and, well, social media. This time, however, we were hearing firsthand accounts from our neighbors, who were actively involved, spending their free time—and beyond—helping at the train station.
They spoke with such passion about the families they encountered and the assistance they provided, and I found myself completely engrossed. When they were ready to leave, she invited me to join them. I’m so grateful she did.
A Night of Reflection
That night, Joel set off for the first time with her husband while I nervously waited at home. Even though it was nearly 1 a.m. when he returned, sleep eluded me. I was torn between wanting to know and fearing what I would hear. Eventually, he recounted his experience, and as he drifted off to sleep, I lay awake, my mind racing with images of a mother, her children sleeping in a park, and a father likely forcing himself to stay vigilant for the sake of their safety.
So when she asked me to join them, I felt anxious but couldn’t decline. I spent the first hour questioning my presence and my ability to contribute anything meaningful amidst the dedicated volunteers who were there daily.
The Arrival
Then I overheard some murmurs. “A family is coming, with small children,” someone said.
I looked up and saw them crossing the platform, nearly collapsing onto the hard ground. The mother carried something, and it took me a moment to realize it was a baby—so small he seemed to have been born during their journey. Her other three children were huddled close, with one sleeping on top of their only backpack.
I recognized something in the mother’s eyes, though I had never met her before or experienced her circumstances. I understood the heartbreak on her face and the tears welling in her eyes. Her four small children were both a source of sorrow and comfort. I could tell she longed for a moment of rest while simultaneously wanting them close. Even without words, I could sense her exhaustion and her silent plea for help.
When her youngest child whimpered beside me, I noticed her urge to comfort her, but she was simply too drained. I gestured that I could help by placing the child beside her, and she nodded, patting the ground. A few moments later, as her daughter lay on a makeshift cardboard bed and continued to whimper, I moved closer and gently rubbed her back in small circles until she finally fell asleep.
A Moment of Connection
I saw gratitude in the mother’s eyes as I sat nearby, offering to hold her baby in his small carrier. I felt the weight and awkwardness of him in my lap, and I noticed how her gaze was fixed on her child, anxiety creeping in as he began to squirm. The moment she held him again, burying her face in his neck with kisses, was the first time I saw her smile. I recognized that familiar exhaustion that comes from motherhood and understood the depth of her love for her children, how it only grew stronger with each passing moment.
Recently, my own son Benjamin has been sick, demanding my attention constantly. For nearly three days, he clung to me, only allowing short breaks when he finally went to bed. I longed to take my older kids to church for a brief escape, to enjoy a service uninterrupted. But despite my best efforts, he wouldn’t let go. His little lip quivered as he clung to me, and after a half-hour struggle, I realized that as much as I needed a break, he needed me more.
The Essence of Love
Sometimes, love is easy, but often it’s an exhausting endeavor. It’s a relentless giving, even when it feels like there’s nothing left to give. It can hurt, but it’s the most genuine love—the most sincere.
That night, looking into the eyes of that mother, I understood what it means to be human. I now see the world through a lens I didn’t have just a few weeks ago, and I can’t unsee it. I recognize how fortunate I am to be born in a place that offers safety and stability, yet I understand it’s simply a matter of geography. At the core, in the ways that truly matter, we are not so different after all.
Shared Humanity
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Summary
This reflective piece explores the profound connection between a mother and her children amidst the overwhelming struggles of being a refugee. The author recounts a personal encounter with a refugee mother, drawing parallels between their experiences of motherhood and the universal love that binds them, regardless of their circumstances. It highlights the shared humanity and resilience that transcends borders.
Keyphrase: refugee motherhood experience
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