we were poor, we did have a love

Elene Khaduri (Born in 1939)
Interviewed by Maya Maduashvili at the Karaleti IDP Settlement, 2010
photo by Gala Petri

My maiden name is Elene Khaduri and my husband’s last name is Maisuradze. As far as I can remember, my childhood was tough. I was raised as a poor war child. I was raised by my relatives, then I was sent someplace else and so on, until I turned seventeen. When I turned seventeen, my close relative, a cousin, gave me out in marriage. He gave me out in marriage… My father went missing in action during the war [WW II]. He was drafted and we all… Not we only but everyone was in need at that time.
We were in constant need of everything in the village of Kurta. My husband proved to be very good, excellent; excellent in terms of character, love for hard work and so on and so forth. His family was also very poor. It was normal for that period. Then through my labors, and his labors, we built a good family.We also built nice and big homes. Then these homes were destroyed by an earthquake, so we built new ones. Thus [sighs], as they say, the chemistry was good between us.I gave birth to two children, a girl and a boy, Giuli and Guram. I educated them both. My son became an engineer. He graduated from a school in Tbilisi. My daughter graduated from a laboratory school. Then, after she started to work, she was forcefully taken in marriage by a Kakhetian young man [Kakheti, a region in Eastern Georgia]. Things did not go well for them over there [in Kakheti], so we had them move over here. To be more precise, we bought them a house and they moved here. My daughter’s husband was involved in a car accident at that time, so I was forced to have them move over here… And I have a granddaughter, my Niah [laughs]. As for my son, he spent many years in Russia. He was getting way past his marriageable age, which made us all quite concerned. My husband could no longer bear so much worrying and passed away at the age of sixty-nine.It’s been ten years now. It’ll be eleven years this coming March.
I took over the household thereafter. I did everything. I doubled my workload. And then my son arrived.I had him get married.We celebrated his wedding, and now we have a two-month-old girl, Sophiko. We named her Sophiko after my mother-in-law. My mother-in-law spent thirty years living under one roof with me. I am very pleased that my granddaughter was named after her. She was an extraordinary person. Although we were poor, we did have love. We had the loveliest neighbors.I cannot complain about anyone living around us.We had the loveliest, extraordinary neighbors [crying].And now, since they are far away from here, I miss them tremendously.
Now I’ll switch to the war period [August 2008 War].When all youths left, including my son, only we were left, elderly people… handicapped people who could no longer walk on their own… paralyzed people, while some were way over eighty.They started burning down homes from Tamarasheni [In 2008, this village was completely destroyed and depopulated] and reached our village.We had an icon corner arranged in our home.My daughter-in-law is very religious, and so is our whole family.So I took down the icons and put them in my purseand went outside.Ten of us in all gathered in the garage.There was no one else left in our neighborhood that consisted of us and our neighbors.Thus, we gathered and reasoned.We anticipated Red Cross people to arrive, yet they were not allowed into the village.Aircrafts flew so low that I ducked every time I heard them approach.Tanks were accompanied by four armed young men on either side, guarding the machines from any possible attack from the village.Who was there left to fight?People like us?
Then they started to burn down homes.Seeing my neighbor’s home burned down hurt me so badly.Eventually, it would be my home’s turn, of course.I left my purse with my people and entered the house. About fifteen armed Ossetians burst into the house and rushed upstairs.They looked around, came back downstairs in about fifteen minutes and left.I said, “God has helped us.”So they left.In half an hour, they pulled in a van and a trailer.They loaded everything we possessed onto the van and put our pigs in the trailer.Two pigs… I had two.They left… and took everything away.Saddened, I stood in the yard for about fifteen minutes.Then they once again rushed back, intending to burn down my home. I pleaded with them, “Please don’t burn down my home!”One of them turned to me, “Who are you?” grabbed his automatic rifle and hit me in the head with its shoulder stock.My head looked like that hole over there… I started bleeding.I felt unwell.While I was washing the blood off my face, coming to a little and regaining consciousness, the roof of my home had already burned down to ashes.I burst out crying.I opened the driveway gate and left.I grabbed the gate, thinking whether I should close it or not… I opted to leave it open and bid my home farewell for good.In the meantime, in less than ten seconds, they rushed back yet once again, grabbed my purse (where I kept my daughter’s clothing and the icons) and shot it to ribbons with automatic rifles right in front of me.I didn’t step back even a bit.I don’t know if the icons made me adamant, or I only froze, but I stood there like a statue.They left.
Now I told them [relatives and neighbors], “I have to go through the woods.I cannot take it any longer.”My three neighbors, husband and wife, eighty years of age, started crying, “You have to take us with you.”I asked them, “Can you walk?I cannot carry you through the woods.”They said, “Yes.We’ll hold canes and walk.”So we left.We kept walking.We made it to the woods before dark.We slept on fallen leaves and brushwood.We didn’t really sleep but we lay on them.The sun rose.We slowly walked upward.After we reached the top spot in the woods, we heard dogs barking and the voices of Ossetians and Russians. They had a big bonfire lit. It was August. I have no idea why they would need it.Now they [my neighbors] were frightened.They sat on a rock and refused to follow me.I said, “Alright.I’ll go ahead and you follow me.I’ll let you know if there’s any danger ahead.”It was too late to go back.I looked through tree boughs and saw two men armed with automatics, coming toward me.I approached them.They were like thirty years of age, Russians.I greeted them [in Russian], “Hello, sons.”“Hello.”I asked them, “Do you have any water?”“No.But there’s a water source, quarter a mile from here.You can have some there.”I thanked them and waved at my neighbors, gesturing them not to be afraid.They approached and greeted [the Russians].They never said a word to us.They left.Then two big dogs passed by us.I got really scared, “Oh, come what may, we’ve reached the point of no return.”The dogs, however, passed by us, without even having barked at us.We continued our journey.We walked.Then we noticed a trailer. I reasoned that Ossetians or Russians were in the trailer… There was no telling.I got closer.My fellow travelers were too frightened, so they stopped, while I went ahead.I approached the trailer.The door had a big lock on it.I walked around toward the window.It was a metal window.The trailer was packed with dogs.There must have been at least sixty of them, no human beings though.I was no longer afraid as they couldn’t get outside.I waved at my neighbors and they followed me.We went downhill toward the water source.We drank some water, washed our faces and sat down on rocks.We figured we had already reached safety.
The worst was yet to come, however, after we went over… There are villages called Erdevis since three villages in that area are called the same name Erdevi.The same thing was happening there as in our village, aircrafts, tanks, fire reaching for the sky.I told my neighbors, “Can you go there?”They answered no.“Alright, then follow me.”I noticed a vineyard with some corn ears and cut hay on the ground.I opened the wicket gate.It was tied with a belt, a woman’s belt.I opened the gate and we entered.We spread the hay on the ground and lay on it.We lay there, numb and spellbound.We couldn’t sleep.We had not eaten in six days.We only had water with us.We drank some water and that was it.When the sun rose, I took a look at the road.It was quiet [brief pause].In the meantime, my neighbor’s blood pressure rose [pause].We moved him over onto the hay.His spouse browsed through her purse and found his medication.We had him take a pill and waited for him to recover. These houses [in Erdevis] had already burned to ashes.Apparently, nothing survived in our village or there.
We left… We left slowly.My neighbors walked with canes.When we were leaving, there was not a soul around.Everyone had fled.The highway, however, was full of tanks and Ossetians and Cossacks [semi-military communities of Slavic people in Southern Russia], or whoever they were, swarming around the place.I said, “Let’s not take the highway to Gori. It would be better if we went toward the orchards.”The road went downhill.We went down the road, and, as it turned out, there was a crossroads ahead, and we noticed a red SUV truck driving down the other road.Suddenly it stopped and started to move toward us.The driver turned out to be young man of thirty-five, an Ossetian who spoke good Georgian.He jumped out of the car and pointed his automatic rifle at us, threatening to kill us.My neighbors started shaking.I asked, “Son, would you kill people walking with canes?Won’t you, a chivalrous young man, feel ashamed?These people are half-dead.They left their home, and they have enough life force in them, if any at all, only to walk.Go ahead and kill them.Just remember that it’ll be held against you.”He then told us to get out of there and that was all.So we left.I sat my neighbors under a tree.My neighbor (the husband) told me, “Only find a way to Gori.”
I left.I walked and walked through an open field.It was very hot.There was a large swamp with a hole in the middle of the field.I fell into this hole.I grasped the grass and that’s how I got out of the hole.My shoe got stuck in the mud though.I was wearing slippers.That’s how I left home, and now I was left completely barefoot.Nevertheless, I continued my journey.I eventually found the road [to Gori].There was a stream to cross.I reasoned that I could make it on the other side, yet my neighbors wouldn’t, so I walked along the riverbank, hoping to find a crossing.I found a crossing made from cement slabs.I marked a tree, so I could recognize the place later, and headed back to my neighbors.While walking back, I went a bit too far down the riverbank and came across a peach orchard.I went into the orchard and picked twelve peaches.I went back and brought these peaches to my neighbors.The husband, an elderly man, pulled out a pocket knife and peeled the fruit.We sated ourselves.I told them, “Let’s get going step by step.I found the road.”They were very excited.After we reached the road, I made them sit under a tree, and the man’s blood pressure rose again.His wife was looking for the medication when she came across their son’s address in Tbilisi.They rejoiced.I too was overjoyed.They asked me to go to a village called Didi, about a mile away.
I reached one house.I found no one there.Then I approached another house, thinking that its residents must have gone to the orchard.As soon as I was about thirty feet away from the house, I noticed people armed with automatic rifles standing around the house and intending to burn it down.They bumped into me and inquired who I was.I didn’t say anything.I only told them that I was on my way elsewhere.I turned around and ran barefoot.When I reached my people (I had three fellow travelers, a couple of eighty years of age, and a man of sixty-five), I saw that an armed Ossetian had stripped the third neighbor of all his clothing, including shoes, save underwear only, and made him herd about one hundred cows from the field.As I got closer, I wondered if my neighbor had gone nuts, “Omar, what’s the matter with you?”He shrugged his shoulders as though saying, “I have no choice.”I approached the Ossetian and now he turned to me, “You must herd the cows on the other side.”I replied, “Son [her voice gets shaky], I am barefoot, I’m all covered in blood, how do you expect me to go on herding?”“It’s not my problem.”Then he said, “If you don’t,” and pointed his rifle at me.What was I supposed to do?I was forced to rush and herd at least eighty cows for him. The Ossetians took our third neighbor with them, so that he would herd their cattle once in Eredvi.
We kept waiting for our neighbor.Then we assumed he had been killed and wouldn’t come back.We waited for about an hour and a half.And then… Poor soul, we saw him run toward us.When he reached us, I told him, “Put on your pants and shoes.We have to go through the vegetable gardens.”He said alright.Thus, we walked through the gardens. Then we stopped to take a breather. I noticed tomatoes. I walked over into the vegetable patch and picked several tomatoes.There was a stream running nearby.I rinsed the tomatoes.We divided them among ourselves and ate them.We were starving.We had not had anything to eat for a week.
We entered a village.All women had left the village.Only men were left.We sat down on a log.I told my neighbors, “You wait for me here.Stay put, while I go into the village and ask for some bread.”I went into the village.I noticed two men walking.I told them, “My brother, please be a Christian and spare a loaf of bread.I have aged people to take care of.We have just made it out of the warzone in the gorge.I have to feed them something.”“Sister, we have no bread.Our women have left.We do have flour alright, but we have no one to bake bread for us.”I had no choice but to go back.I came across a plum tree, so I picked a handful of plums and rushed back.I fed them the plums.We ate them together.
In the meantime, a young man old enough to be my son approached me.He was well educated, having graduated from a school of higher education.He held a rope in his hands.He approached, greeting us and saying, “Where are you from?” We replied, “We just fled the warzone.We’re from the gorge. Son, maybe you could share some bread with us if you have any.”“Oh mother!We surely don’t have any bread.You won’t be able to get out of here.I myself live in Tbilisi.I spend some time here and some there.My parents are there, and so are my wife and children, while I’m stranded here.I cannot get out of here.I own stores [in Tbilisi], yet I cannot get out of here.See that mansion?Its owners locked it and fled.It has locks upstairs, but I can let you into the garage.”We got excited [pause].We followed him.He then said, “I’ll go fetch some oil and pasta, so you can sate yourselves tonight.”I thanked him.There was a small table with three chairs, also a small cupboard with a few plates and a pot, and a natural gas cylinder [sighs].I swept and tidied up the place.It had dirt floors, so we spent the night sitting in chairs.There was no power, so we lit a candle.When the sun rose, we went outside and… He brought pasta.We boiled it and ate it like that, which breathed life into us a little.We went outside in the morning and saw rows of apple crates.I carried like twenty of them inside and assembled something resembling a bed.Now I had nothing to cover it.I went outside and knocked on the door of that mansion.No one answered.Everyone was gone.There was a couch sitting outside along with two blankets and a pillow.I rolled up the blankets [cries], spread them in the sun, and then we lay on them.Then that young man brought us some tomatoes and potatoes.He obliged us.God bless him.He told me, “The owner of this mansion has two cows and four pigs.You can feed them corn ears.Then you can milk the cows, make cheese, and then we’ll split the goods.”I said alright.Thus, I made cheese, while he took some and left some for us.I milked those cows and took care of them.That lad, our sixty-five-year-old neighbor, helped me tremendously, feeding and tending them.
Then the young man told me, “If you manage baking bread, I can supply you with a cartful of flour.Here’s an oven and firewood, and we'll split the goods again.”I answered, “Of course, I can bake.”He brought a cartful of flour.I made a lot of dough in two bins.The young man himself had many refugees from Yerevan.I baked four batches of bread once every other day.The young man (the other one, our sixty-five-year-old neighbor) helped me gather and carry tree branches and brushwood and stuff like that.The young man would show up and take his share of bread.Sixteen days passed.We stayed there for sixteen days.
Then a kid from the village came to us and helped us make a phone call.The young man had dropped his cell phone into water, so he couldn’t make any calls.The kid let us use his phone, so we called the young man who told us he had been trying hard to do something for us, he even turned to clergymen and others, trying to help us, yet to no avail.He also said that he might try to come for us in a taxicab via the village.I thanked him and the kid.The kid said before leaving, “If you ever need my help, I’ll come see you.”On the seventeenth day, behold!The young man arrived in a cab, had us get in the car and rushed us to Gori.On our way to town, we were pulled over by the Russians.They had a tank on the highway.They frisked our car.Having found nothing, they let us go, so we left.We arrived [in Gori], and I spent two and a half months in the building of a kindergarten.There were ten of us, living in harmony.We still keep in touch, visiting with one another every so often.They are sweet people.They love me and I love them too.There, this was my adventure [a long pause].
Q: Now how did you get used to this place?
This place?What can I say?Well, a prisoner gets used to the prison cell.I have nowhere else to go and I don’t have anything left.Whether I liked it or not, I got used to this place. Yet [a brief pause], my mind and my heart are there.I constantly have dreams about being there [a brief pause]… Yes, being there [sighs deeply].Thus, this is what I’ve been through.I even dedicated two poems to my homeland.They’re not too valuable, but I put my heart and soul into them.

 I dreamed of flying like a bird [her voice gets shaky]
Over these mountains to my land –
My gorgeous gorge I wish I could
Traverse and trot and walk on foot [crying].
So I could tenderly caress
Our homes, burned down, turned into ash.
Our roses are withered and dry,
So is the vineyard, parched and wry.
Proud son of the Caucasian range,
This mountain overlooks the plain;
Its everlasting frosty beard
Seems to have melted into tears.
Mighty Liakhvi River has dried up,
Its waves are sullied and hushed up.
Roses and violets dispersed,
Dry, withered leaves reign instead.

I don’t know if it’s likeable or not.I did, however, weave all my warmth into it.
Q: What about the other poem?
The other one goes like this.

When the enemy attacked,
Burning down ancestral homes,
Chasing people into woods,
We were scattered and dispersed;
Some could never bear the war
And departed from this world.
Hope that one day we will return,
Rebuild our homes, reclaim our lands
And gardens, orchards tend our hands;
Clothed in splendor once again,
Oh our homeland, you will stand.
Only if our dreams come true
May we see sun rise too.
[Pause] That's all.I could do more.
Q: Do these poems have titles?
Titles I'm not sure about...
Q: When did you compose them?Recently?
Yes, recently.Sometimes I feel like breaking into tears.I can write but tears blur my vision.I used to have glasses there.I left them, however, so I can no longer write well.Our warmth would be greater if I could have my neighbors here.My neighbors from there... [Pause] None of my next door neighbors reside here [in the IDP settlement].I want to see them.We used to greet one another and converse.It breaks my heart."Good morning.How are you?" we used to say, "We're having a festive reception today."I was an elderly woman, but there were about twelve young ladies on our block who would eat dinner without me.I've always loved to have fun, dance, sing, and the whole nine yards.I always seemed to have become their age... Sometimes I even felt embarrassed.I was such an elderly woman and they were so young."No.We won't do anything without you."That's the kind of relationship we had.I love them very much.Wherever they are, I pray to God to keep them healthy and in wellbeing.That woman (the one whom I delivered from the warzone with her husband) passed away three months later and was buried at the Bazaleti Lake. I went there by bus.I arrived and wept.My heart was broken, really broken [a long pause].
Q: You had good relations with everyone, Ossetians and Georgians, did you not?
There was only one Ossetian family on our block, so... They all left in Gamsakhurdia's time [ZviadGamsakhurdia(1939-1993), first President of Georgia].There were but Georgians left.We all bore the same last name as we were all cousins [a long pause].
Q: What feasts did you celebrate in your village?
Child, we celebrated a feast [a brief pause] we called the Feast of the Mother of God.We had a church, a splendid church;it's still there... unless it was damaged... That's where we used to go.At first, we held big festive receptions at home and hosted a multitude of guests.Then, in a week, we went there and prayed in that church.That was our feast... Churches in our parts were reopened.We used to go there, lighting candles and praying.I called him the Archangel.I went to the church and sang to the icons to please them...
Q: What did you sing?
Whatever would please them [smiles].
Q: Do you remember them?
[A long pause] No.Sometimes I get so forgetful, but I may remember.

Oh my saints,
My dear ones,
Glory to your name!

I used to sing this, or something like

Do thou protect us,
Do thou support us,
Cover us why thy protection
In time of tribulation!

That's what I sang.I conversed with them through singing [pause].I still pray.There's a large cathedral dedicated to Saint George.We built new churches.We all made donations and built new churches everywhere and priests were serving in those churches.We used to go to church and attend services, sometimes staying there all day and other times for a few hours.We attended the liturgy [pause] and then went back home.We took great pleasure in doing it [a long pause].I still say once in a while,
Oh our saints,
I hope your chapels
Have not grown mold.
[Crying]They had little boys.You know, those altar servers who help priests, carrying the censor and filling it up with incense, and so on...These altar boys used to ring bells.I can still hear the sound [a brief pause] and it touches my heart greatly.Every time I remember our icons, I burst into tears.It's too much.I cried this morning too.I cried so hard.If you saw me, I don't know what you would think of me.You would think I had suffered some injury or something.It hurts me so badly though.Worrying about these altar servers is killing me just as much, even more than thinking about my home that I have left [crying].This is all I have, child [a long pause].What do we have now?
I sit by the window, looking outside and seeing a rocky road.What good is this view?Back home, I would look outside and contemplate the vineyard, a nice alley, and blossoming roses.And I love flowers very much, to this day.My grandchildren took pictures of me in the midst of our flowers.I didn't even remember it.In the picture, I stand with a bunch of flowers in my hands like this [gestures with her hands]... My home, everything I had, the yard, the house, everything was so beautifully and nicely tidied up.Whenever I miss my home, I take out these pictures and spread them.Then I weep and put them away [crying; a long pause].We have been scarred badly.
Q: Do you have anything here?
Oh yes.
Q: What do you have?
Well, these vegetable patches around the house.We grow onions, garlic, tomatoes, and stuff like that... so that we can have small things, greens, for example.I take such good care of the patches.I tidied them up in the fall [smiles].Our garlic has grown, and we have our onions... Thus, I'm trying to hang in there.
Q: You arranged it all by yourself?
Yes.I removed at least one truck full of rocks from this place, so I [a brief pause] wouldn't cover myself with shame.My neighbors, however, know that I've always been a hardworking woman, child. My neighbors know it.We had a nice stream.When I walked to this stream in a hurry, my neighbors told me, "Come have some rest."No, I had others things to do, so I rushed back to my errands.Rain or shine, it didn't matter to me.I even made trips to bring charcoal.I had orphaned grandchildren.I did everything for them.When I encountered need [a brief pause]... I did have a home and a yard alright, yet bare walls won't do you any good, you need money, right?I took care of my grandchildren and provided them with sustenance.I've been through all kinds of tribulation. I took care of my business, of course, but I labored for others as well.I was very hardworking... I used to say, "I wish night turned into day, so I could finish my work."That's how I spent my tumultuous life [pauses].What do I believe to be happiness?You know what keeps me going?My children, grandchildren, and these [relatives].My daughter-in-law is a very good, extraordinary young woman.God gave me such a good daughter-in-law.She's a psychologist.She's precious.She's like a daughter to me [a brief pause], and I'm thankful to God [pauses], and it's the greatest gift to have them all alive and giving me so much pleasure.This is my life [a long pause; sighs].That's all I know.
Q: Can you remember something from your childhood?
My childhood (how should I put it?) was very bitter.I cannot recall anything [a brief pause] but bitterness from my childhood, because I practically don't remember my father.He went to the war when I was still an infant in the cradle.While we were growing up, two sisters and a brother, our mother couldn't provide for us all.We were in need.I spent all my childhood barefoot.I didn't know what footwear was.I would go barefoot to the stream to fetch some water.You know how they say that children catch a cold and so on.Nope, we were alright, hungry and naked though... There was one woman from Tbilisi... She worked as a dairymaid on our collective farm... She made cheese.I frequently saw people holding jars and standing in a line for whey.There was not enough whey for everyone.Some were left without whey.She gave such people some whey the next day.She always remembered who didn't get any.You also had to stand in a line to get rye bread in Tskhinvali. You had to be there very early.My mother would leave early in the morning and get in the line.She would bring us some bread, slice it and portion it for us.One slice had to last us for some time... We sustained ourselves with fruits and somehow made it.What should I recall?One memory is worse than the other.
We had a school in the middle of the village.It was a four-grade school, while there was a middle school a little further from the village.We walked barefoot.We were in need.We walked barefoot even in winter.One time, I stole shoes from my aunt and put them on.When I left the school after classes, I took them off and carried them under my arm.I carried them back home in secret and put them back.That's what I've been through.Then I grew up.As I already mentioned, when I turned seventeen... Life improved little by little.People found jobs.Then my brother grew up.They built a home and everything, yet the war ruined it all.Nothing was left there after the war.Thus, I lost everything in my native land where I spent fifty-three years of my life, where I raised my children and labored, and built a home.
When I got there, I found nothing but a small wooden house.I commenced to work right away and we built houses.Then there was an earthquake, demolishing our homes.We rebuilt them, yet this second time we lost everything.That was it.I haven't seen anything in my life.My children, grandchildren and my great grandchild, my son's grandson, are my pride and joy.My son is a very good, exceptional boy.He had worked for four years in the Regional Committee [of the Communist Party] while there was peace, but everything turned upside down during Gamsakhurdia's time, so he quit and moved to Gori. He started to work in the Reinforced Concrete Plant, spending three years there.Then things went wrong again.We were constantly in war and tribulation.We couldn't freely travel on our roads. Since Gamsakhurdia's time, the roads have been blocked for eighteen years now.Due to the blocked roads, we walked through the woods.He would call me, "Mother, I made it safely."On his way back, he would say, "I've already made it to the lowland."He would rush home...
Land mines were placed on the roads.Some had their arms or legs blown up by those land mines, while others lost their lives altogether.People used to go to the forest to fetch firewood.The forest too, however, was stuffed with mines.One time, a half-dead father and his barely alive son were carried from the forest.They lost their arms, legs.I don't know what else to recall.That's the situation we have had for eighteen years, yet we stood strong to retain our homeland. Tskhinvali had nothing on us.It was Russia that beat us [pauses].We had such strong boys.Before the aircrafts showed up, they annihilated them in the tunnel.Later on, however, the general informed the Russians that things looked desperate for them, asking to help them with aircrafts.That was when our boys were bombed in the forest.They thought there must have been thousands of them.After having made calculations, however, it turned out that twelve boys had accomplished such a heroic deed.We lost many valuable people in this war, many a dear brave young man.That's what Russia has brought us.
Imagine having worked for fifty-three years, child, building a home, setting up a household, and then being kicked out with nothing but the clothing you have on... It's tough [pauses].Our departed have been left unattended too.We light candles here.Yet, I don't know.It breaks my heart not being able to tidy up their graves.We use to plant flowers there, clean up the graves, and now... No one will let us there [a long pause]... If I live long enough... I hope I will.Sometimes they show things on television that break my heart.Sometimes I cheer myself up, forcing myself to live long enough to make it back.I ask one thing of my son. If I feel that I'll never make it back and something happens to me here, I want him to carry me there (if peace comes and we are allowed to go back).That will be my will, and then it's up to my son.When I tell him something of this kind, he says, "No, mother!You have to live long."That's what he says, but it's not up to him, is it?I only want to live to watch my children and see us go back.I'm always there in my dreams.You think I've been here all this time (four and a half months in the kindergarten building and then here)?No.I'm there.I'm working around my yard, seeing people and neighbors.I wake up overjoyed, yet when I look around, bitterness takes hold of me. I sometimes say, "At least, I saw you in my dream."This is all I have, child.