The Poor House

Does your community need to put its house in order?

Looking at current poverty statistics, anecdotal stories published every now and then in the media and face book groups where people lament about having to choose between paying the ever-increasing hydro rates or buying groceries, or knowing somebody who is not able to get their prescription medicine because there simply is no money in their bank account to do so, it is apparent that we, in Canada, need to look beyond our living rooms.

There are lots of people trapped in the basement. Children, a million of whom are living in poverty in this country. There is a terrible mess in our collective basements and the cries for help and justice are not being heard. These come from people who cannot afford to rent a home let alone buy one, disabled people who cannot get the medical transportation they need to take that upgraded highway to the medical care they need. It includes parents and students who had their community schools closed and who have been stuffed into overcrowded leftovers. It includes adults and children who cannot afford to eat nutritious food, who go to school and to their minimum wage workplaces hungry, tired, and with untreated dental problems. It includes people with renal failure, active liver disease, crippling arthritis, stroke, mental illnesses and head injuries, who cannot qualify for the disability assistance that, in B.C. gives them $906.00 a month to eat and pay rent. It includes children who live in unsafe housing and who cannot go to proper childcare facilities because the people upstairs in the house scrapped their commitment to funding universal daycare.
In the back corner of the basement are twice as many homeless as there were three years ago, 75 per cent of whom are not on welfare because they cannot get it, and they contribute to the 60 percent increase in food bank demand. With their backs against the wall are poor and disabled people who cannot access help for their human rights, their debt issues, their legal problems such as tenancy issues, elder abuse, or accessing a benefit they are entitled to.

Some of the people in the basement are out working, at ten dollars an hour, or at part time, temporary, contractual jobs. Some to try to save up so they can afford to take a few university classes, and many under adverse conditions, because changes to the Employment Standards Legislation gave some “flexibility” to employers and weakened safeguards to workers. Just like the Residential Tenancy Act changes ghettoized many tenants. It is quite crowded in the basement from those thousands of public sector employees who have lost their jobs. There are special needs students wandering around because they have no one-to-one support or supervision, and before and after-school program cuts have many children alone when they shouldn’t be. Some of the seniors in the basement are trying, and failing to take care of themselves or their elderly spouses because there are no beds for them in care facilities. The cuts to the Ministry of Children and Families has many frightened and needy children scrambling out of the cracks they have fallen into in the basement of this house.
The economy, as always prioritized by our legislators, applies to everyone in the “house” not just those upstairs. The wealth of this community has been out of reach to many, and the leaders who are elected to keep our house in order, don’t seem to realize, or care, that there is a basement.

It is their duty, as the head of our house, to do so.

In a Heartbeat

There is a lot of poverty in the world. I often talk about it, about how people should have enough money for basic needs, about offering dignity to those who are marginalized and vulnerable. I talk about equality, and justice, and being our brother’s keeper. These are things I believe in. We are all feeling the pains of poor economic times. We are facing job loss, higher costs, cutbacks to things we have taken for granted. We worry a lot. Mothers skip meals so their kids can eat, men try to find work with rotting teeth and a tent for a home, families struggle to pay for childcare so they can work for wages well below the poverty line. Addictions are overtaking our society at warped speed.

In the scheme of things, all of this is worrisome and should take a front seat to our concerns as a society. Having said that, let’s not forget what is most important of all. Loving one another. Saying what we should say before it is too late. Appreciating what we have. Comforting those who are lost and who are broken. Celebrating our youth and remembering there are a lot of great young people in our world. Thanking our lucky stars that the kids many of us struggle to support are at least at home with us every night.

Too many young people have died in our community in the past couple of months. One is too many. We are all shocked, saddened, we wonder how it happened, why it happened, and who’s to blame. Eventually, life goes on for most of us.

There is just cause, however, to remember that the young people who are no longer with us are much more than just one person. They are grandsons, nephews, big brothers, little brothers, students, employees, boyfriends, sons, and young men who will never be fathers themselves. With them a generation is lost. To many more people they were the kid who everyone got along with, the guy you could always count on to be there for you and made you feel good about yourself. The class comedian. The talented musician. The star athlete. The quiet helper. They were a best friend. To their co-workers, they were the youngest one on the crew, the one to tease and joke around with, the one with the goofy grin, the kid who would do anything that was asked of him. To a special few they were a role model, a confidante, a protector, someone to wrestle with, someone to wait up for, someone who gave rides in a cool car, someone to cheer you on at hockey game.They were and will always be all these things to a lot of people. They will be the one we tell others in our lives “I wish you could have known him.”

A lot of people are hurting right now and will never quite be the same. These people are vulnerable. They need our help.

Every now and then we will continue to hear of tragic losses and it hits us hardest when these are young people who have not had time to live yet. But they have lived, and stories like this don’t just happen to other families. They can happen to anyone. The golden rule comes in to play. Treat them as you would want to be treated.

At the end of the day, you or people you know of or hear about may not have enough to eat, may not have the right clothes, a furnished home, a home at all. But their hearts are beating. They will wake up tomorrow morning to start a new day with new possibilities. We can hope they have friends, family, and people who care about them. We must hope that they have their community. That spirit is often the difference between isolation and despair, or hope and recovery. We need to pay attention to that and not let all the other things that can be fixed, overshadow other things that cannot be fixed once it is too late.

Hug your children and tell them you love them. Then fix something by making a difference in the life of someone else.

She Flew Away

I recently made peace with my adult child¹s estrangement from me. After
hearing the false accusations, lies, delusions, blame, rumours, and heart
shattering silence on too many mothers days, birthdays, christmases, I left.

I left my hope.

I took it out of my heart and discarded it.

I know that I was being poisoned by each day that I hoped she would come
back to me. 

So with a heavy heart, I left my grief of three years, knowing that I had
already put it off too long.

For the first few weeks, my body seemed to reject this. 

For three years I had thought about what if's, waited for the phone to ring on 

special occasions, cried when something reminded me of her or my grandchildren,prayed for reconciliation. I didn't know who I was without my daughter and
grandchildren. Despite the kindness of friends and even strangers. I could
not help feeling utterly alone. Even though I have other children who are in
my life, it felt like I had a broken set. But it was this sense of aloneness
that set me free. Somewhere along the way, I let go. I released all of the
optimism that she would come back to me and the pessimism that she
wouldn't. The shards of her buried deep in my brain.

I stopped wondering if the things she had made me think about myself were
true. I began to see how extraordinary, breathtakingly beautiful life is. I
meditated, drank too much coffee, talked to strangers, laughed, and found
joy again. My children who have stayed by my side were reborn in my eyes, a
new, smaller set, richer, more precious, cherished, admired deeply.

Once I discovered that my happiness depends only on myself, nothing could
hurt me anymore. I have found and continue to find peace. Each day I am
closer to it than I was yesterday. I am a work in progress but I am full to
the brim with gratitude and joy. And so, since I have opened a new chapter
in my life, I want to peacefully part with the contents of the last chapter.
The end of my maternal bond with her was the catalyst for a wealth of
positive changes in my life. It was a symbol, most importantly, it was an
act of self-love. It was a realization that I deserved to be happy and I
could choose to be. I am moving forward with strength and grace and deep,
lasting peace. I am going to be who I was meant to be, and take those on the
journey who were meant to take that adventure with me.

I gave her life, she has flown away, I no longer have to look to the sky to
wonder what could have been because I what is happening now has 

grounded me on an exciting path to my destiny.

Namaste

Letter to Santa; Don’t bring gifts this year

Dear Santa
I hope this letter reaches you before you head out on Christmas Eve and use your magic and head-of-the-curve technology to visit over 150 million houses overnight, delivering presents to over 2.1 billion children, knowing exactly who is on your naughty and nice list.
This letter might seem strange, shocking, even un-Christmas-like, but I want you to think about it.
Please do not deliver presents this year. Not the kind that are found in stockings and under the tree, to be played with, built, ridden on, viewed, eaten, smelled, or collected.
What we need this year, the world, is something that will require all your infinite magic and all your miracles and most importantly, all your love for the children in our world.
I really think everyone will opt out of receiving individual gifts this year in favour of the following list.
For all the sick children in the world, those whose lives will be cut short by illness, accident, crime, nature, please make sure that the North Pole exists in Heaven, so their souls can come to you and spend the day, where they will have a sense of the divine, a hint of the beyond, a whiff of the transcendent, where everything they imagined is real, enchanting, sacred, and wondrous. Where the joy felt by little boys and little girls on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day is felt in their hearts for eternity.
That the joy and innocence and wonder find again those whose goals have become to terrorize our world, and that their lives are rewound to their infancy or childhood where they found security and happiness from their mother’s touch, where they played and sang and laughed, felt hope and playfulness and always, love, never hate, and ensure their lives go in a direction where they are not corrupted by evil and violence in the name of religion or culture or race or Holy Wars.
And while you are using your magic to rewind lives to do-overs, give that gift to ensure the addicted do not take the first drink, hit, snort, or shoot up and if it’s too late, that we embrace them in their pain and trauma and treat them for their sickness and not their criminality.
And finally, before you return to a forward motion, rewind the cycles of child abuse that impact too many, so that innocence is preserved and the cycle is no more.
That the world understands perversity and molestation, rape and pedophilia are not acts that remain isolated to one time and that those afflicted with the desire to harm and hurt and behave towards others only to satisfy themselves cannot be rehabilitated and should not be released back into our communities.
That the rich embrace giving, benevolence, and value relationships over acquisitions and simplicity over excess.
That people understand we are all the same no matter what color we are, no matter what our vocation is, whether we wear blue collars, white collars, or no collars, whether we have a home or not, whether we are fat or thin, disfigured or beautiful, and it doesn’t matter what gender we are, what gender we choose to be, who we choose to love, or, who we choose to worship, all that matters is we all practice the Golden Rule and hold that as most precious in defining how we live.
That Bibles are not thumped and every scripture or sacred text is not used to promote intolerance and hate.
That everyone finds something to have faith in, and even atheists feel the possibilities of the eternal, and sceptics and agnostics hear the music of ‘Silent Night’ or ‘Alleluia’ know there is something greater for them to rely on.
That we understand all animals are sentient beings, who have intrinsic value in their existence, life and beauty, and that they feel hurt, they love, they grieve, they feel sadness, fear, and joy, and they don’t want to fight nor should they be made to for sport and money. They do not want their babies to be taken away or to be butchered nor should they experience the terror of a kill floor or the trauma of abuse.
That minimum wage doesn’t mean minimum respect.
That we know, we believe, that when we talk to our loved ones in Heaven, they hear us.
That we take the politics out of leadership, the worship away from celebrities, and the sides out of marriage and those vows, our covenants to one another are cherished and remembered especially when life together gets difficult. And if they must be broken, that is done with dignity, sacrifice and respect.
That every person has four walls and a roof to call their own and if not , we who do help them get theirs without delay.
That every person has access to clean water, nutrition, and medicine.
That we all practice forgiveness.
That veterans are honoured at all times and we strive to send no one in their place.
That sons and daughters honour their mothers and fathers and hold sacred their family unit, the one they came from, and that they try on the shoes walked in by their parents, and are humble for it. That people realize estrangement breaks hearts and crushes souls and the collateral damage robs children of their heritage. Love and forgiveness trumps hate and grudges, every time.
That fathers be fathers mothers be mothers and both know your children need each one of you and remember, in times of conflict, the love that brought you together and created those who depend on your love and care.
That in the middle of the ‘I need’s’, ‘I want’s’, ‘Can I have’s’ are little boys washed ashore, dead, when all they were looking for was the life most of us have. That there are no borders for those little boys nor should there ever be.
That we live our lives free of road rage, bullying, pettiness, violence, gossip, back stabbing, avarice, ego, and replace those with compassion and empathy.
That we understand laughter is the best medicine.
That we protect our air, trees and water.
That we have faith in humanity, in human potential, and most of all, in the power of our imaginations.

And finally, for my Christian friends, many of us have lost the miracle of the birth of a baby boy in Bethlehem amid the crowded store aisles, in the tinsel and wrapping paper, in the baking and decorating, and we forget that it all started in a tiny little town, and the simple cries of a newborn baby, in a manger, in a stable, with our Messiah. And He brought some miracles to us from the Kingdom of God.

That we all have hope and courage despite the evil in the world and good will come one day, hope for redemption, justice and true happiness.

Please Santa, if you can grant these wishes, we can skip the rest and be grateful for it.

Signed: Sian Thomson on behalf of all the mothers who worry for our children and their future.

Wee Willie Winkie comes to Canada.

                                                     Wee Willie Winkie comes to Canada.

Winkie came into the Los Angeles County Animal Care and Control in Downey on September 27, 2014 as an owner surrender. He was four years old and quite overweight at 37 pounds. He was neutered on October 27, 2014. 
Then, because nobody wanted to adopt him, he ended up on the euthanasia list. This is often the time that rescues from across the region come in to save the dogs they believe are adoptable. Nobody wanted Winkie. It could have been his demeanor while enclosed in a strange place, with the sounds and smells and sights unfamiliar to him, grieving, perhaps for his old life or his "person" and confused as to where he was and why. It could have been because of how he looked, missing fur, looking “mangy”. That's what I was told. He was an ugly dog.
He was diagnosed with alopecia (hair loss) that the vet thought might be allergies, or a metabolic/endocrine disorder. There were no resources at Downey to investigate/treat this and remained up to his adopter to see a private vet for blood work and evaluation. (That would take over a year, and Winkie will see our vet on September 26.)
The heroes from Columbia Humane Society in St. Helen’s. Oregon, decided to take him. They saved him. They are a no kill shelter, and he owes his life to them and we owe our future life with Winkie to them.
He stayed there for almost a year, with no interest from adopters It must have been difficult for him to see his kennel mates come and go. But thanks to Petfinder, we found him. To say the staff and volunteers were not excited to receive an expression of interest in this guy would be an understatement. A few weeks later, on August 26, 2015, he was on his way to Canada, Vancouver Island to be exact, and welcomed at the Campbell River airport by me, Emma, and sweet and sour chicken balls (without the sweet and sour). I think he liked the chicken best.
This was all a risk and kind of ironic. The humane society told us he was not adopted because of the way he looked, yet that is why I adopted him.
You see, we had lost our dog Kessler at the end of July. He was not our only dog, but he was Emma’s dog, my daughter who has autism, and we had saved him as an 8-week-old puppy, from Los Angeles, when he was very sick and had mange and secondary infections. In the year it took for him to recover, he bonded with Emma, who was very methodical with his medications and baths, something she loved to administer, and became her defacto therapy dog. He was one of a kind. His death, 5 years later, was sudden, even though he had a devastating illness that resulted in him losing his eye via a violent seizure, the encephalitis took him after three months, just at the time everybody thought he would make it. It was an agonizing loss and a wave of sadness so overwhelming engulfed our family. 

I decided to start looking for another dog for Emma. My only pre-requisites were male, dachshund cross, and a dog that felt right. Major emphasis on the latter. I recall Winkie was around the 400th dog I viewed on Petfinder, meeting the criteria I had plugged into the search engine, and the only one I clicked on for further information. In fact he took my breath away due to his physical similarity to Kessler, and this was before I realized they were the same age, and that Winkie, too, had a skin condition. They both came from Los Angeles and were both brown ‘Doxie-crosses’. 

Their personalities are very different. Kessler came to us as a little puppy and never saw a day of neglect or abuse. Winkie, I suspect, has not enjoyed the same peace and love in his life. He is deathly afraid of coat hangers, fast-moving people, and has some aggression that I suspect comes from a latent need for self preservation. He has been snappy and growly in his first couple of weeks here, over his food, over being touched in some places, or moved off the bed, a mere facade, I expect covering up a timid heart. But it has quickly dissipated the more he realizes he is safe here, and loved unconditionally. He is astoundingly bonded to Emma, literally following her everywhere. If she goes outside he waits at the door, pining. If she gets up to use the washroom in the night, he wakes up and goes with her, as if he is sleeping with one eye open. If any of our other dogs plan to jump up on her knee, well, Winkie remains a work in progress on that front, he is very possessive. But it will all settle itself over time.
We hear often that dogs in rescue are damaged goods. Yes it’s true that some rescue dogs aren’t good with other pets, and some aren’t good with children, or men, or being left alone. Some may have fear issues, while others might be over protective.
The same can be said about dogs anywhere. Most rescue dogs aren’t there because of behavioral issues, many of them are there at no fault of their own. Many are probably there because they were considered disposable.
Every dog who's adopted from a rescue means another spot opens up for yet another dog whose person dumps them, without concern for their fate. Some of those dogs, dumped into epidemically overcrowded shelters go straight to the "kill room".

There but for the grace of Columbia Humane Society went Winkie.

When you adopt a dog you’re giving him a second chance at life.

Everybody loves second chances.

At last count, I have had and lost 28 pets in my lifetime. None of them have ever been replaced. Winkie is not Kessler’s replacement. With that, I can state as fact: No matter how many times you go through it, losing a dog never gets easier. The only consolation that we have is the time spent in-between, and our lives are so much the better for it. The pain will fade, but that canine-shaped hole in your heart never goes away. Getting another dog does not fill it, it only makes our hearts grow larger, until we amass a gigantic heart with a lot of little dog-sized holes.

Like my backyard. And my couch. And the bottom end of my mattress (because they think I wont notice.

Let Winkie’s ongoing story inspire you, give you patience when your rescue isn’t perfect and give you faith that they will be in time and with love. 

MY Girl.

September 4, 2014 is a day I almost lost my oldest daughter. She was the victim on a (sudden) domestic assault. "Sudden" because he had never physically attacked her before. It was bad. It took a long time for him to beat her as she ran for hiding places in their apartment, FInally she made it almost out the door but fell, and he slammed the door on her legs repeatedly as she grasped onto her dog Lucy and tried to crawl out. It was then she thought to call for help. But the neighbours has already called 911. He was arrested and taken into custody. Because the apartment was in his name as he was the main wage earner (as a police officer) she was given 4 hours to move out of the apartment. FOUR HOURS to relocate her life, her belongings, with no where to go. Thanks to the kindness of friends,and my brother and sister-in-law re arranging their day to help her pack what she could in the time allotted (before he got out of jail) Emelia made it out with basically the clothes on her back and her cat and dog. She was unable to retrieve her furniture, her bed which was a good one, and he subsequently sold it all. She was battered, bruised, traumatized, frightened, and lost. She loved this man and thought he was the one, and as she said 90 percent of the time they had a wonderful time together, laughing, sharing interests, he was her best friend. So she lost her best friend that day in a way you never want to end things with someone you love.
There had been "signs" that all was not right with him. Arguments would be initiated over trivial things. He couldn't let things go. He was controlling. He often tried to make her feel inadequate. Leading up to the beating (which you can imagine was well done as he was a trained police officer) there had been an escalation in his fighting mood, and I had to intervene a few times in the 48 hours preceding the event to calm him down and talk him out of his hysterics. My last words to Emelia the night before the attack, when I had spent two hours on the phone with them on speaker, mediating this argument, with him saying Emelia's attempts to settle things were nothing more than sarcasm on her part (bizarre), my last words were "Milly you have to leave him ,you have to get out of there this weekend." The next morning it happened. It started over her rubbing his arm as a way of saying good morning. He took offence and just started beating her. He smashed her lap top, broke her phone, ripped the closet door off and destroyed her clothes, he hit her everywhere but the face, bruised ribs, scratched up arms, bruised thighs, calves, severely sprained wrist when he bent it back as she tried to defend herself, and a couple of good punches in the stomach. Emelia had never been in a physical altercation before. She fled and ended up in the street below, calling me, barely audible between the sobs. she was in medical shock. The Vancouver Police Department treated her with dignity and care. After it was all over, the medical checks done, the photographs taken, the statements given. they took her to her friends house where she would couch surf until she figured out what to do, where to go, where to live and how to get furniture, even just a bed., to give her some dignity in her recovery to start over. He had sold her car, much of her furniture while they were together, replacing it with "new" stuff, he preferred things that way. A police officer even brought her some food at the end of it all after realizing she had not eaten all day, and they continued to check up on her from time to time, as did Crown Counsel. It was gold star treatment for a domestic assault victim and I owe the VPD a debt of gratitude to this day for treating my baby girl with kindness and grace. He lost his job with the police force. They don't put up with bullshit like that. He was charged with assault, mischief and uttering threats. He was put on a one year peace bond. That ends next month. My daughter, on her own, found more work in order to be self sufficient and to start over, working two jobs, working to exhaustion some 18 hour days, managed to get her own apartment in a nice area of town, furnish it over time off Craigslist, make new friends now that he was no longer in control and isolatiog her, and she benefited from the one year of counselling the Victim Services offered to her and lucked out with a wonderful therapist who really knew how to communicate with Emelia at her level. Her level of mistrust, victimization, sadness, sarcasm, and high intellect. Emelia is the Gold Standard for women in domestic violence situations. she never let it happen a second time. She did not go back even though it would have been the easiest thing to do because he had the money, the home, all she had to do was tow the line and hope that something she said didn't brew and boil over in his paranoid, narcisstic mind. All she had to do was walk on eggshells. She chose the hard road. And it was hard. There were many phone calls home crying, sobbing, scared for the future, was it worth it? Was she doing the right thing? Her body was aching, exhausted. She missed him. she missed the man in the times he wasn't emotionally abusive and controlling, But she could not erase the memory of trying to escape and the beating getting worse as she tried to get out the door. She remembered her terror at leaving her cat in the apartment and worrying what he would do to him to get to her. She used her common sense, and she continued on a difficult, often isolated journey away from him and towards herself.
It has been a year. She is a new person. She is physically healthier, mentally healing, has a new job with lots of potential for income and growth, an apartment that is hers, and hers only, with furniture that is hers, and hers only. She will be buying a car this week to commute to her new job. She is on her way.Many women who were beaten a year ago by their boyfriends or husbands remain in that living situation. Some left and went back. Others made excuses, thought they could change him, thought if they only acted differently themselves he would stop getting mad
and using their body to take it out on. My daughter said once is too much, and fought her emotional instincts to go back. She followed her head not her heart. She will fall back in love one day, when she is ready. She still doesn't trust totally. She still carries hurt from that day. But she is laughing again. She likes what she sees when she looks in the mirror. She has made new friends, not friends he approves of. She has rekindled friendships he did not allow. Emelia has defined herself at 25. She is a courageous, smart, kind, giving person, who wants to be loved, one day, by a man who will never put his hands on her except in affection. She is a self made woman, who came back from the brink of darkness and horror, and did it all by herself. As all women of abuse must. People can help you do it, but you have to make the decision to reach out and take what they are offering. Too many turn their backs and return to the darkness because it is easier.
Emelia Coryn is a warrior princess. She is not one to mess with. She is the true definition of an independent woman in 2015, and she is going to make a difference in the world. She is an artist, a writer, a cat and dog mom, an athlete, a tough mudder, an evolving gardener, a loyal friend, who has overcome disappointments in her life with grace and a lot of humour. 

That's MY girl.

Dear Aylan

Dear Aylan

Man should never have to make tiny coffins and babies should not die in the sea. When I first saw you, you were wearing a red t-shirt, blue shorts, and cute little leather soled shoes with the Velcro undone. You looked like you had fallen asleep at the beach, on your tummy, bum up, waiting for your mama to come and get you.But you were not sleeping, you were dead.You became the world’s little boy, and the world is crying for all the years you will miss being alive, sharing your gifts, loving and being loved, especially by your papa who misses you to the moon and back. So many mommies and daddies are holding their little boys a little tighter today.I wonder about you Aylan. Were your eyes the color of the ocean that sent you to heaven? Did you put your own shoes on, like a big boy on the night of your doomed journey? Did you feel your papa holding you desperately trying to keep your head above the waves. Have you found your mama and your brother Galip in Heaven?Were you light and love, mischief and pranks? Or did you live your short life in terror and sadness, hunger and squalor?I am so sorry that you didn’t make it to Canada. It is a lovely place, where people care about each other, where little boys can go to school, ride bikes, and play games, where they have choices and friends and play dates and their very own dog and don’t see horrible things little boys should never see.They don’t have to risk their lives getting onto inflatable boats in the deep ocean to find freedom and safety.Your auntie said you never had a toy to play with. In Canada you would have had Little Tykes, and Hot Wheels and LeapFrog and Megablocks. You would have been lost in the imaginary world of the Lion King and the Muppets, sung songs from Frozen, played in the snow and made sandcastles at the beach. But the photo of you on the beach puts you into a club no child should be in. You join Phan Jim Phuc, the little Vietnamese girl running away from a napalm attack, and the unnamed Sudanese baby being preyed upon by a vulture. Maybe your photo is the one that will open people’s hearts to the endless possibilities found when we don’t look away, when we stop pointing fingers towards politicans, terrorists, nations, policies, bureaucrats, traffickers, and overloaded boats carrying children and mothers to their graves. When we say we are sad but what can we do?You are everyone’s little boy Aylan, and we are all to blame for the horror you went through, and the horror too many children of the world, behind borders that don’t matter, are living every hour of every day until they, too, pass through hell on earth to get to Heaven, too early, too tragically. All of us, in the whole world, can honor you by loving each other and taking care of each other and speaking up, speaking out, and not stopping.Maybe this time, maybe this time.You are free now and I am sorry it took the unforgiving unrelenting waves of the Aegean Sea to give you what you should have had in life on earth.Freedom. Love. Peace.Even now you are sleeping in eternity I can only believe that you were planted on Earth to bloom in heaven. Take flight, my boy. Soar.