The older of the Muslim mothers pulls out her bag and starts flipping through family photos and reminiscing. “This is my oldest son, Mohamed. He would have been 24 now.”
The other mother replies, “Yes, I remember him as a baby.”
The first mother says, “He’s a martyr now.”
“Oh…That’s so sad, my dear.”
Then the first mother flips to another picture. “And this is my second son, Abdul. He would be 21.”
“Oh, I remember him. He had such curly hair when he was born.”
The first mother sighs, “He’s also a martyr.”
“Oh gracious me!!!” says the second mother.
“And this ….. this is my third son. My beautiful Ahmed! He would be 18 this year.”
” Why.. yes” says her friend enthusiastically, “I remember when he first started school!”
“He’s also a martyr”, the first mother says. She sobs. Her eyes fill with tears.
After a pause and a deep sigh, the second Muslim mother looks wistfully at the photos, gently lays her hand on the first woman’s shoulder and says: “They blow up so fast, don’t they?”
This is also an overnight/early morning open thread…