There we stood, the three of us.
In a room without mothers or daughters.
Looking out the picture windows – in silence.
And when the water came, it swallowed everything and everyone – but we didn’t move.
Dirty. Muddy. Thick.
Water rising quickly, pressing against the fragile glass.
Only then we felt fear and turned to each other for solace.
Hands stretched, reaching out, full of hope.
We lowered our heads, as if to pray, but didn’t.
We thought of the children we’d never have and the mothers we’d never see again.
But didn’t dare look at each other. Couldn’t bear it.
On the verge of tears, one last glance revealed the water had receded and rendered everything clean and new.
But not for us.