pa dobro

I have nothing... no medicine, no oxygen, no money, not even a safe place to sit and cry.

I am a mother from Gaza. From the south. From a land that has known nothing but bombing, death, and dust

From a neighborhood once inhabited by children playing... and now buried under rubble.Everything is destroyed. Everything is burned. Nothing remains. Even my voice is no longer audible

My only child is in my arms now...He doesn't move. He doesn't speak. He doesn't scream. He breathes slowly, as if every breath is a miracle.His face is yellow...

His eyes are closed... His body is weak and cold as death.I feel him slipping away from me... moment by moment.And I can't save him.I just cry... I call his name... and I hold him tightly as if I'm fighting fate.

He was sick... severe pneumonia.I took him to the hospital, where they said his condition was critical.There weren't enough machines.

The doctors were exhausted, working without electricity, without medicine, without anything.But we held on to hope... despite the pain. Despite the cold. Despite the collapse of life around us.Then camethe occupation.

The army stormed the city.

The shelling began on us from every side.They bombed the hospitals. They bombed the streets. Even the places we thought were safe.I screamed as I ran with my baby in my arms.The doctors shouted, "Get out! Get out! The place is going to be bombed!"I saw children having their breathing tubes ripped out of their mouths, patients thrown into the streets, and mothers collapsing.I saw a nurse crying as she tried to save a child... then she too fell to the ground.I left the hospital, not knowing where to go.Bombs falling.

Corpses in the streets. Blood on the walls.Everything was silent... except my heart, which was about to explode with terror. I walked for a long time carrying my child...I was screaming, "Is anyone there? Is there a doctor? Is there oxygen?"But no one answered.All the doors were closed.All the faces were shocked.

And death awaited us around every corner.Now, my child is dying.With every passing minute... he suffocates more With every second... he dies more.And I... hold his little hand... and say, "Be patient, my love...

Forgive me, forgive me, I couldn't protect you."

They told me there was only one chance... to transfer him outside Gaza for treatment, and I would have to pay the exorbitant costs.

But how ? No money

I don't even have a blanket to cover him.

My home is destroyed. My family is under the rubble. No food. No water. No life.All I have left is this child... and these last moments with him

Please....😭😭💔

Help me

Before I close his eyes with my hand.Before I place him in a shroud that's too small for his tiny body. Before I bury him alone, under a tree or among the rubble...

Help me... before I bury the last beat of my heart.

Verified : @90-ghost

Verified:@bilal-salaho

Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #576)

They ask for neither revenge nor justice—just treatment, a morsel of bread, a drop of clean water, and a chance to live another day.

Their fragile bodies tremble in our arms, their sunken eyes searching ours for a hope I can no longer offer. Yet the world looks on, blind to their suffering, deaf to their silent cries.

From the depths of a broken mother's heart, I beg you not to let their suffering go unseen. Do not let them fade into silence. Please, help them before they are lost forever.

TWENTY OVER LIMIT, 2023, handwoven by Alexandra Jean Auger