I just read an Op-Ed piece in the N.Y. Times written by a Nigerian man, Lakhdar Boumediene, who was detained in military custody, without explanation, at Guantanamo Bay for SEVEN, yes 7, years.
His children grew up while he was inside being tortured, interrogated and treated like a terrorist despite the lack of any evidence against him.
They were not allowed to talk to him.
Letters they wrote to him were sent back.
When he was finally released, the only explanation was that the government had made a mistake. Oops.
It breaks my heart. Incenses my every fiber. Shocks my soul. Seven years. You can not give a man the experience of being with his wife and watching his children grow back to him once you have stolen it. It's gone, forever.
And it makes me feel just a wee bit guilty about my ongoing pity party regarding not being able to get my husband, father of my children, back home where he belongs after just five months of trying. I'm still angry, more so than ever, but I'm also humbled somehow, in the face of just how bad it could be.
The world is filled with broken families. To see families broken up unnecessarily, and children losing their fathers for no good reason other than the heartless churning wheels of bureaucracy, is painful.