The Kids Are Spilling Out Of The House

It’s hard to understand a pain this deep from a distance. It’s hard to give voice to something this deeply unutterable. Oftentimes, this week I’ve had moments where all I can do is shut my eyes for a moment, calm my soul, will my food to stay down, take a deep breath, and then step back into it all.

Because the kids are spilling out of the house.

I’ve seen a post this week doing the rounds on Facebook, comparing this current war to an abusive partner and the abused. I’m not a historian, I can’t even begin to understand the complications, the family ties, the deep crevices between these two peoples. I know there’s some good deep down in the abuser. It’s complicated, and I will never know the full story. But what I do know is that the kids are spilling out of the house.

I’ve always had a fire in my belly for the underdog. I’ve faced up to a man yelling and hitting his partner in his car. I know it’s always more complicated than it seems, but when I see violence, I want to fight to bring it all to peace. When I see a man beating his kid in public, I’ll yell. I’ll stand up to him. When I see people abusing their partners in public I’ll stand and be witness to it, forcing the abuser to see themselves through my eyes, ready to jump in if that’s what’s necessary.

But in this situation, I am just someone with a camera facing a darkness that is far beyond what I have ever seen in my life. I feel it in the knots in my stomach every morning. I feel it in my shaky hands and my thumping heart. The darkness is very real, and I just want to take my family and friends and run to somewhere safe.

But the kids are spilling out of the house.

In the carnage, while the parents are fighting, their kids are running to the neighbors, banging on the door, hoping someone opens up and lets them in. The older sister is crying and telling us how she left her big brother back there to help. She’s unsure of where to go, only that they all needed to get out of there. The middle child is carrying the bags, and the baby brother hasn’t made a sound for three days.

So yes, it’s complicated, it sometimes seems too big, and it’s hard.

But I think what I’m saying is that looking after the kids is the least we can do.