Before I settle into my nighttime comedy viewing
to quiet the raging thoughts in my mind
I think I need to write about this
because I said I would write about it
said I would never forget it,
just like I’ve said about the countless stories that I’ve heard
faces that I’ve seen
hands that I’ve held
and it’s not that I’ve forgotten
It’s just that it is often too heavy to document
so instead of words on paper I carry their love and trauma and humanity
In my body, in my bones and blood, in my upper back,
in the ache in my head
and the swelling of my heart
I can’t explain to you the impact and influence of their lives shared with me for a brief time,
for only a moment or a string of conversations, or maybe for many months strung together
It is not manageable or sensical, I still wonder how I’ve ended up in this space to bear witness
but here I am and maybe without any other purpose than to do just that
to bear witness; to serve as evidence or proof that something exists or is true, or to formally declare or testify to something, often from personal experience…
the strange thing is that we are still having to prove the worth of humanity to each other,
the horrendous thing is that we’ve not yet grasped the sacred nature of all living and breathing beings,
we’ve not been devoted to honoring and uplifting
instead we deport and wage war and cut corners
back to bearing witness,
I just wanted to share about his small hand wrapping around my ring and pinky finger
pulling me back from walking out the door
he said “please, one minute”
his head full of curls and his eyes, amber brown
I thought maybe he wanted me to help with his toy, the one that I tried to put together while
his mom told me about how she had nothing, no options, no money, no way of being in this land
his mom told me, in broken english, of the life that she had – of her career and education and family,
of her community. his mom told me of the food that they would eat, and his mom told me of the
abuse, the intimate partner violence layered with gender violence, layered with family violence,
the displacement and exile now experienced
how she could not return, how she hoped for asylum, how she hoped to start a new life
I could not put together his toy during that time, so I thought maybe he wanted me to try again
wanted me to try to fix something that I could not fix
Instead the small boy led me to the couch,
he said “sit, one minute”
I heard rustling in the kitchen,
I heard whispers in arabic
“one minute” he grinned
Then to the kitchen he went, moments later wandering out
with a plate of almond biscotti from the food bank
and then his sister followed with a mug filled with grape juice to the rim
“eat, elisabeth! eat”
his mom said
“they wanted to serve you”
In this moment,
sacred humanity
revealed
generosity defined,
I sunk my teeth into the gift and let myself be nourished
yet another experience of the complexity of circumstances and the
simplicity of human connection
how limited are my solutions and abilities,
how abundant is their worth, dignity, and value
I struggle to put into words
the story that I want to tell because there are so many
and each hold inherent value
I haven’t forgotten, could never forget
I carry their humanity with me everywhere I go
my efforts are inadequate, I bear witness
I bear witness, I bear witness
To the brokenness and their resilience,
To their sacred humanity
and I will stand for them,
sit with them