Freeing his hands from under the heaviness of little arms and legs, Fadi buried his face in his shirt. Everyone in the room sat together and wept. No one tried to speak to fill the silence.
This moment wasn’t about moving on, it was about understanding. It was about being human . . . and sharing in the communion of pain that we so often try to isolate.
This was a father weeping for children that were not even his own . . . for a life and a home that had been buried forever. We thought of our own families. Our own homes. Our own children. And we wept too.