I Found Myself Looking Into The Eyes Of A Refugee Mother

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I never intended to write about this experience. Honestly, I didn’t. I envisioned observing quietly, marveling at the incredible people sacrificing so much for a cause that needed support. I wanted to assist in whatever small way I could, then retreat back to my normal life—at least until the next time it came to my attention. But these thoughts have consumed my mind lately. I find myself waking in the middle of the night, their faces lingering in my memory—their weary eyes, radiant smiles, tears, fear, and gratitude.

It all began during dinner. After spending nearly the entire summer away, I was eager to reconnect with my neighbors, to catch up on holidays, kids, and life. However, our conversation took an unexpected turn. I could sense they felt as I do now—while life carries on, certain issues overshadow everything else. Even when you try to avoid talking about it, it still intrudes, reminding you.

We were aware of the refugees fleeing Syria, Afghanistan, and Iraq, attempting to navigate through Hungary in search of safety. Our knowledge came mostly from articles and social media, but now we were hearing directly from our neighbors who were actively involved in helping. They spoke with passion about the families they encountered and the efforts they made, and we were completely engrossed. When they left that evening, the neighbor asked if I wanted to join them. I’m so grateful she did.

That night, her husband and Joel went to the train station for the first time while I anxiously waited at home. It was nearly one in the morning when they returned, and I didn’t sleep. I was torn between wanting to know everything and fearing what I would hear. Eventually, Joel shared his experience, and as I lay wide-eyed and exhausted, I couldn’t help but think about the mother, her baby, the children sleeping in the park, and the father likely trying to protect his family while planning their next move.

So, when she extended the invitation for me to come along, I felt nervous but unable to decline. Once there, I spent an hour questioning my presence. What could I possibly contribute that wasn’t already being done by the dedicated volunteers who were there nearly every day? Then I overheard murmurs about a family arriving with small children.

I looked up just in time to see them crossing the platform, nearly collapsing onto the cold concrete. The mother was carrying something that took me a moment to recognize—a baby, so small he likely entered the world during their arduous journey. Her other three children huddled nearby, one fast asleep on their only backpack.

In that moment, I locked eyes with the mother and instantly recognized her sorrow. Though I had never met her or been in her situation, I understood the anguish in her expression. I could see her tears and how her four tiny kids were both her source of grief and her solace. It was evident she desperately wanted to rest yet needed them close. I sensed her silent plea for a break, even without her uttering a word.

When her youngest began to whimper near me, I saw her instinct was to comfort the child, but exhaustion weighed heavily on her. I gestured that I could help, placing the baby beside her, and she nodded gratefully. A few moments later, as her child lay on a makeshift cardboard bed, I rubbed her back in gentle circles until she finally drifted off.

I noticed the gratitude in the mother’s eyes as I offered to hold her baby, cradling him in my lap. He felt heavier than I expected, and I could see her watching closely as he began to squirm. Her anxiety to hold him again was palpable, and I witnessed the first smile break through her weariness when she finally embraced him, showering him with kisses.

I understood what it means to be exhausted by your children, yet seeing them through someone else’s eyes added a new layer of depth. Her love was beautifully overwhelming, and while I couldn’t comprehend the horrors she faced or the uncertainty of her future, I recognized that kind of love.

Recently, my little one, Oliver, has been sick and in constant need of my attention. For almost three days, he wouldn’t let me out of his sight, even for a moment. I longed to take my older kids to church, craving a brief escape from the chaos. Yet, when I tried to leave, Oliver clung to me, trembling and sobbing. After a tough struggle, I realized he needed me more than I needed a break.

Love can be exhausting, a continuous act of giving even when you feel depleted. It can hurt, but it’s the most genuine form of love. I recognized that same love in the mother that night, how I knew her without needing her to speak. She wanted nothing more than a moment of respite, and I understood that while we were guiding four weary children through the train station, her efforts were for them, even if they didn’t grasp it.

Reflecting on that night, I grasped what it truly means to be human. I realized my privilege of being born where I was, but I also recognized that fundamentally, we’re not all that different.

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In summary, the experience of connecting with a refugee mother allowed me to see the depth of love that exists even in the most challenging circumstances. It was a powerful reminder of our shared humanity, and the love we all feel for our children, no matter our circumstances.