The first thing I noticed was the pebbles. There had to be a hundred. Maybe more.

All perched lovingly atop the unmarked grave. I took a deep breath and went closer.

Each step taken with respect. To those underneath the pebbles, their families, their communities, their lives.

Time stopped.

I knelt.

My hand reached out. Hovered over the pebbles asking permission to enter their world for just a few hours.

I was humbled. I was ready.

I will never forget.

So began my journey to Terezin in the Czech Republic that November day. I knew it would change me. I knew what I would see.

I knew nothing. Absolutely nothing.

How could I know? I had not yet seen. I had not yet felt. I had not yet heard the door slam behind me.

I didn’t know about the children. I didn’t know they drew pictures. Pictures of flowers and trees, family and dogs. Pictures like all kids draw. Only they weren’t all kids. They lived at Terezin.

I was ready.

I had watched the movies.
I had watched the documentaries
in my comfortable chair in my warm living room.

Now I’ve stood where they stood.
Sat where they sat.
Cried where they cried.

I know it’s not enough.
But I will never forget.
Will always speak up.
Will always remember the pebbles.

There were a hundred of them.
Maybe more.

IF WISHES WERE PEBBLES by Karen Wilson