It is a warm day and I am at home with my adolescent son. In a moment, he will leave by car to Germany for sports training and my father and I will go to Katwijk aan Zee.
‘Will you drop me off at the station?’ I ask.
‘Yes, that’s fine.’
‘Will you take a bottle of water with you then?’
‘No, I’ll buy some on the motorway.’
‘Yes, but, who knows, you might break down on the motorway,’ I say as I hurriedly fill a water bottle with water.
‘Never mind that water bottle now, you with your motherly feelings,’ my son grumbles. Still, I have a feeling he likes it in a way, parents and a bonus mother still looking after him a bit. As we walk to the car together, I hold the water bottle, as if it were a precious piece of treasure. I place it in the side compartment in the car door.
During the short drive to the station, an oncoming car lands on our side of the road. My son immediately sounds the horn. The driver of the oncoming car steers it back on the right side of the road, shouting ‘sorry’ through the open window. When we are almost at the station, I say to my son:
‘Nice of you to take me to the station Noah.’
‘Ah, it’s a two-minute ride,’ he says.
As we say goodbye, I give him a kiss on the top of his head and wish him a good journey and a good workout. Ideally, I’d like to tell Noah how incredibly much I love him, but that’s a bit awkward because we’re in a sort of kiss-and-ride car park. So I just wave and walk away.
A little later on the train, I am flooded with motherly feelings. My tummy tingles as if Noah is the little baby in my belly again for a while. Blissfully, I stare out of the train window for several minutes.
As I grab my phone and look at my LinkedIn profile, I read that a polio epidemic has broken out in Gaza. I think of the family in Gaza sending me messages via Facebook. One of the most recent messages was that they hope the war will end soon and no one will die. Children are now dying in hospital beds, lying there until their bodies rot away. Some are being eaten by cats and dogs. The suffering is so unimaginable that I can hardly comprehend the immense grief of the mothers and fathers, aunts and uncles in Gaza. Looking at my Facebook timeline, I see Israeli swimmers who have formed the words BRING THEM HOME, with their bodies. A reference to the hostages still being held in Gaza. War results in only losers, I think sadly.
I also think of the war in Ukraine. How many children, women and men are dying there. And I think of the threat of deploying nuclear weapons, the doomsday clock set to 90 seconds before midnight. Recently there was an interview with two soldiers in the Dutch newspaper Het Parool. Code orange has been proclaimed in the Netherlands, they explained. This summer, Church and Peace wrote a letter to churches to work for peace. In it, they also mention the human beings killed in Ukraine, and that physical war is coming to the Netherlands. For instance, there are discussions about conscription again. Deep down, I fear that my son will also have to join the army to fight the Russians.
As I think about this, Sting’s song Russians comes to mind. In it he sings: We share the same biology regardless of ideology. And: I hope the Russians love their children too. And yes, of course they do. Of course Russians love their children, just like people in Ukraine, Gaza, Israel, Iran, Sudan, the Netherlands and all over the world. That is what binds us humans, the love for our children. The love for our neighbours. Let us ensure that no more lives are lost in wars. Let us all care for each other and for peace on earth. Let there be love.
For: ‘A World In Which All Children Can Play.’
May-May Meijer
PS Noah is a fictitious name
photo taken by Gerard Meijer: May-May after the peace demonstration for the civilians in Gaza and Israel on Dam Square in Amsterdam
Note: This story was previously published in the story collection ‘Let the guns fall silent, now!’ by Women for Peace Enschede, the Netherlands.