On the road, after the explosion in the IED Inspection Centre behind our homes this morning, my trip to work – late as usual- was on a longish route; the longer the better. I wasn't in a hurry.
Driving unusually fast, my thoughts were not on the road.
I was thinking that we were lucky this time, neither my children was hurt. Lucky.
BUT NO MORE GLASS!
Although really fed up that our windows were glassless – again, I decide to use transparent nylon sheets instead of glass this time.
NO MORE GLASS!
The sight of those two children cut up, barely alive, cut me to the quick.
They had my daughter's face – no – my son's face … Does it really matter that they did not have their faces?
They were playing in their garden – one still a baby running around bare footed on the lawn with his milk bottle in his hand, his sister chasing him with a big fluffy monster making monster sounds – their world falls apart the moment the IED goes off.
Does it really matter that they did not have my children's faces?
The glass is blown with such force – it is only a fraction of a second – and both are down.
How can one continue to be human, filled with human feelings and not withdraw into that inner place were no hurt can follow??
Driving faster than usual, feeling quite unreal, I feel like testing my humanity against some blast wall – just to see if I'm still human.
Hot tears come to my rescue, but they are not enough. Not enough.