In the wake of the early morning, an man takes a seat on his front porch, he feels the shining sun on his aging face, welcoming him to a bright new day. In one of his hands sits his scorching hot coffee, it’s heat unbeknownst to his already damaged hand that no longer has the energy to feel. In the other, the wrinkled sunday paper is opened to the world news section. The man adjusts his rounded glasses, eager to know what is in the paper this time.

His eyes scan through the titles on each page and he feels his heart drop as he reads one headline: Scores of Syrian civilians killed in government airstrikes.

His shaking hands pull the paper closer to his waiting eyes, his heartbeat increasing as he begins reading the story of injustice. His failing eyes hover over every word, struggling to find the meaning of each.

The man seems unable to comprehend how this could happen, this is the kind of hatred that he committed years of his life to preventing. As he continues to read, the words come off the page, ripping out tears that were hidden deep in his eyes. As he finishes the last words, his head drops in disappointment.

He hangs his head low, feeling guilty that he never had that fear of his government and never realized how lucky he was. He looks up as he hears the sound of laughter. He raises his heavy head to find his grandchildren running around the yard, playing with toy guns, oblivious to their grandfather’s heartbreak.

As he watches them, a smile creeps across his face. He knows he did everything he could in his years to help people like those in Syria but he was unable to stop the inevitable. But he is comforted to know that his grandchildren will never have to feel that fear from their government. They have the right to speak out for what they believe in. They have their freedom of speech, and he has faith that their liberties will never be taken away from them.