Imagine

It is 2003.

You are an Iraqi women living in Baghdad. You are married. Your sons live nearby with their wives and children. You work as a professor. Two of your daughters-in-law have jobs. A third is a stay at home mom. Your life is not that different from a mother-wife-grandmother-professional woman any where in the world.

You know that Saddam Hussein is not ideal but he keeps the religious fights at bay. Of course, you know better than to criticize Hussein.

Overall life is good.

March 19. You clean up after dinner and go to bed. You talk a little while with your husband about plans for a family meal next week before falling asleep.

Suddenly there are explosions, one after another. The earth is shaking. Windows in your house break. You cling to your husband. He is shaking. This is the first time in 30 years of marriage you have seen him afraid.

Then it is over. You go out on the street and see some of your neighbors. Not all houses were destroyed but many were.

You rush to your eldest son's house. It is still in flames. Neighbors watch. "No one escaped," they tell you. Going to each of your children's homes, you realize half of your family is dead.

You look at your husband and ask "Why?"