Help a Mother in Gaza Care for Her Child

Family

Help a Mother in Gaza Care for Her Child
In the ruins of Gaza, where the echoes of explosions never seem to fade, there lives a mother who wakes up every day with one mission: to keep her children alive. She was once a teacher. Her husband, a builder. Together they built a small life filled with hope, laughter, and plans for the future. But war has a way of tearing everything apart — not just buildings, but dreams too. Now, they are among the thousands of displaced families living in makeshift tents, set up in overcrowded camps where clean water is scarce, food is even scarcer, and the cold winds at night cut through every layer of cloth. The word “home” has become a memory, replaced by the soft flapping of torn tarps and the dust that never settles. The mother’s days begin before dawn, not with a peaceful morning but with the cries of her two-year-old son, Yousef, shivering in the cold, hungry and in need of diapers and formula she can no longer afford. The smell of sewage from the nearby drainage mixes with the morning air, and flies buzz constantly around the tent. Her daughter Lina, just 10, used to love school. She once spoke of becoming a doctor, someone who could save lives. Now she sits quietly, staring out of the tent, clutching a worn-out notebook with half the pages missing. Education is no longer a right — it’s a distant dream. Maya, the five-year-old, barely speaks anymore. The trauma of constant bombings, of losing friends, of running barefoot on rubble — it has silenced her. She holds her mother’s dress tightly whenever there’s a loud sound, fearing it’s another airstrike. The father tries daily to find work — any kind of work — but with nearly all infrastructure destroyed, unemployment is almost total. Aid lines stretch for hours, and food rations barely last a day or two. Even bread is a luxury. There are days when they have to choose between food and clean water. Between feeding the children or saving the last bit of baby formula for Yousef. Between enduring the hunger or risking a trip outside the camp under the threat of shelling. They are not alone. This family is one story among thousands. Gaza is in the grip of one of the worst humanitarian disasters in recent history. According to international organizations, over 70% of the population is now food insecure. Children are dying not only from bombs, but from starvation, dehydration, and treatable diseases that go untreated due to the collapse of the healthcare system. The tents offer little protection. When it rains, water pours through the gaps. When it's cold, there's no heating. When it's hot, there's no shade. Sanitation is a crisis — there are not enough toilets or showers, and infections spread rapidly among children, especially the young. Imagine being a mother watching your child waste away from malnutrition, knowing that no amount of love or lullabies can fill their empty stomach. That’s her reality — every single day. But even in this darkness, there’s still a glimmer of hope. And that hope can come from you. Your donation— no matter how small — can help this mother buy essential baby formula, diapers, clean water, and food. It can help her keep her children warm at night with proper blankets. It can help them get medical attention before it’s too late. This is more than a plea for charity. It’s a call for humanity. In a world where so much is spent on destruction, let’s choose to build. In a world where some throw away food, let’s feed the hungry. In a world filled with noise, let’s listen to the silent cries of children like Yousef, Maya, and Lina. You have the power to bring change — not for everyone, but for *someone*. And for this mother, that would mean the world. Donate today. Share their story. Be part of their miracle.

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Just Me and Mom — Trying To Survive💔

Family

Just Me and Mom — Trying To Survive💔
My name is Jean. I’m 32 years old, and right now, I’m the only one standing between my mother and complete collapse. After a lifetime of trauma, domestic violence, and emotional scars, it’s just the two of us now. The circumstances tore apart our family, as we were displaced like many others — left to survive with almost nothing. We now live in a temporary, unfurnished apartment in Antelias, trying to hold on to whatever dignity we have left. There are days the silence in this empty place feels louder than any bomb — it’s the silence of abandonment, grief, and exhaustion. I work from home, doing admin work for a broker. I earn $300 a month — a blessing, but it barely keeps us afloat. Every penny goes to essentials — mostly medical, and working from home at the moment is the best option for me since I collapse in a time I do not expect. Recently, my mom's health took a painful turn. She's on daily medications and has become increasingly frail. I’ve been trying to stay strong for her, but I finally went to a doctor myself. The results hit me hard: thyroid dysfunction, vitamin deficiencies, liver issues, and lung concerns. I’ve started medications and now need regular follow-ups. And beyond the physical, I’ve been quietly battling something deeper — panic attacks, chronic fear, and overwhelming sadness and depression. The doctor confirmed what I feared: signs of C-PTSD and chronic anxiety. I need psychotherapy, and soon. Here’s the honest breakdown of what we need to survive and heal: Medications (for both of us): $50 every two months → $300/year Doctor consultations (shared visits): $50 every two months → $300/year Psychiatric sessions for me: 10 sessions at $70 each → $700 Routine blood tests & ultrasounds (every 3 months): $110 each → $880/year Monthly dietitian visits: $40/month → $480/year Instead of putting us on even more medications — which would mean more side effects, more testing, and higher costs — our doctor recommended we see a dietitian who can help manage our conditions through proper food and affordable nutrition. This is not an extra or a privilege. This is a way to prevent more damage — physically and financially. It’s a complex and painful situation. We walk 25 minutes each way to the clinic just to save on transportation and keep it for bills. We do everything we can to keep going with dignity, but we are running on empty. And the truth is… this fundraiser is only for our basic medical and psychological needs. Nothing more. I do have dreams. I always did. I dreamed of living with dignity — not wealth — just dignity, without debts, without fear of tomorrow. I dreamed of growing in my field and eventually opening a small office for my insurance work. But I threw those dreams away just to survive. I buried hope under survival. This campaign is coming from someone who never wanted to ask for help — someone who hit a deep, dark place mentally. A depression that took me to dangerous thoughts. That’s when I realized I couldn’t carry this alone anymore. I have contacted countless organizations. I’ve begged, filled out forms, waited for callbacks that never came. Most aid in Lebanon is reserved for refugees — and while I understand that need, it leaves people like me and my mother invisible. Religious institutions turned us away. Political figures ignored us. We are not "connected." We are just two survivors trying to keep each other alive. I was turned away over and over. And while I understand others are in need too, it left us invisible. And I lost hope in all political, religious and other organizations. So here I am. With all my fear, and all my shame gone. Asking for help. Not because I gave up — but because I still want to fight for my mother and myself. I know Lebanon is full of families in crisis. I know others are suffering deeply too. But if you find it in your heart to help us — even a little — it would be a lifeline. Please help us breathe again. To sleep without fear. To heal. Your donation, your share, your words — they are not just support. They are survival. With all my heart, Jean & Mom

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