peace and war

Maybe it is all the talk of war on television.

Maybe it is all the talk of war on the radio.

Maybe it is the paper I just submitted.

Maybe it is my answer to the recent question, "how is your brother doing?"

I have war on my mind.

The year before my Oma died, we gathered together at her home in Florida.

My brother was in Iraq.

My sister was in California.

It was Christmas Eve.

We were together in the living room, our conversations tangled together.

Oma started talking, her body postured on the edge of her chair - eyes looking off beyond the room.

She recounted pieces of her experiences during WWII in the Netherlands...the narrative obviously vivid in her waning memory.

Standing pressed against the outer wall of a flat on her way to get food while bombs fell around her, felling a tree while soldiers came around to take neighbors away

Opa in the Underground and hiking to nearby farms in search of sugarbeets (all rumors).

Starvation

Receiving lab rats from friends - intended for consumption.

Rope on bike tires instead of rubber tires...

Death

The talk of war - so fascinating and so tragic.

Oma's heart is broken, she said, by what she sees on television and hears in the news

She doesn't see war as the answer and grieves for my brother's involvement.

Grieving in a way reserved only for those who have lived and lost long ago.

She stopped speaking as abruptly as she started.

"Silent night, holy night. All is calm. All is bright..."

 She sang.

Because that is what my Oma does.

She sings.

War is a part of our present.

War is a part of our past.

No matter how near or how far.

War leaves scars and wounds that even time cannot heal.

But somehow, in the midst of it all, we still remain hopeful and fervent in our quest to find

Peace amidst war.