Because I am me, but I could’ve been her.

I am not afraid for my life.

My children are getting an education.

I have access to healthcare and antibiotics and clean drinking water.

My home is safe.

I don’t worry about bombs or air raids or war sirens.

I have two cars and three bedrooms and big, beautiful trees.

I did not happen to be at a concert hall in Paris, or a funeral in Baghdad, or walking in a suburb of Beirut.

I was born in Canada.

So I am lucky.  

I am certain that there are 36-year-old female Syrian refugees who do not have loving husbands and healthy children and dream jobs and safe, secure homes.

I am also certain that if the situations were reversed, if I just so happened to be born in Damascus instead of Provost, if I just so happened to be unlucky instead of quite possibly the luckiest ever, if I just so happened to be fleeing my home and my country, while clinging to my children and screaming, crying, shuddering in terror while trying to keep them safe and nourished and not witnessing human atrocities daily and seeing the very worst of the very worst, well then,  I am quite certain that I would want her help.

So I am lucky.

And I will help.  Because I am me, but I could’ve been her.