On our drive to Holland this past Monday morning, my husband Davy and I heard a story on the radio about two little brothers from Holland who’d gone missing earlier this month. Their bodies were found that morning, in a swampy ditch, where they had been hidden for two weeks. They were 9 and 7, and their father had killed them before hanging himself. Those were the exact details shared on the radio and it hit me hard, just like it’s probably hitting you now. Facts about life don’t compare to the harsher reality of facts about death.
I don’t often cover news of this nature here on my site, but this story hit me the way it did because I was able to understand every word of Dutch. Davy didn’t have to translate any of it for me, and he knew that as he watched me listen and react. The language barrier I experienced after moving here has diminished drastically, and it makes life as an expat easier, but hearing about little Ruben and Julian made me realize there’s really no such thing as a language barrier for tragedy.
With so much loss in the world every day, be it a Ruben or Julian or Lee Rigby, hate has shown us time and time again that it does not discriminate. Neither does love nor cancer, but hate is what’s all over the news. Although there’s a cure for it nobody has been able to provide it to the masses, and so hate lives on.
A man’s hate for his ex-wife led him to take the life of their two beautiful young boys and then his own. All of them will be missed for different reasons and by so many, and remembered by many less but forever. If love is supposed to be patient and kind, then hate is merciless and monstrous.
I wish for Ruben and Julian that they are holding each other again and safe in their souls as all children should be. I wish for their mother, Iris, so much love and patience and kindness for as long as she needs. I wish for the small town of Cothens, where the boys were from, strength in bouncing back from such loss.
I wish I didn’t have to understand the language of hate, but news must be reported and translated for us to understand its tragedy.
R.I.P. Ruben and Julien