The train moves. They wave to Tato on the platform.
“What’s there?” Mama asks.
Unfurling a fist of pebble, broken seashells, her daughter says, “Where we go, I’ll show the home I have left. Someday, I’ll return these to Odesa’s beach, or put them at Tato’s grave.”
Their seven-year-old knows.
Judith wrote this. Her heart breaks seeing Ukrainian refugees pick up their lives.
Warrior daughter
So sad…
Everyone, young and old, has a Tato with an indelible impression there in both heart and mind!
Heartbreaking!
This one grabs at the heart strings…
So many tiny hands filled with pain. God bless.