I hurt for every mother who's lost a son, every son who's lost a

In the ancient world, when the great civilizations of Greece, Rome, and Egypt flourished, there was a deep understanding that the loss of life, especially within the family, was one of the greatest sorrows the human heart could bear. The family, with its bonds of love and loyalty, was seen as the very foundation of society, and when it was broken—whether by war, disease, or the unforeseen—the grief was profound. Lucy McBath, in her sorrowful reflection, speaks to this timeless pain, saying, "I hurt for every mother who's lost a son, every son who's lost a father, and every child whose life was taken far too soon. We honor their memories with an unwavering determination to create a better future for ourselves and for our children." Her words, though spoken in the context of modern struggles, resonate with the ancient wisdom of loss, honor, and the unwavering drive to ensure that the lives of the fallen were not taken in vain.

McBath’s words touch on a universal truth: grief is not just a personal experience, but a communal one. The loss of a child, father, or son is not just felt by the immediate family; it ripples through the entire community, leaving behind a void that can never be filled. In the time of the ancient Greeks, the loss of a warrior or a citizen was mourned by the entire city. The funeral games held for fallen heroes were not merely ceremonial; they were acts of remembrance, of honoring the dead by ensuring that their sacrifice was never forgotten. The story of Achilles, whose grief over the death of his beloved friend Patroclus led him to fight for the future of Greece, speaks to the profound connection between loss and the desire to create a better future. The hero’s journey was never just about personal glory, but about transforming grief into a force that could shape the world for the better.

In the same vein, the Romans, known for their strong sense of duty and service, saw the loss of a family member as a call to action. The Roman soldiers who fell in battle were honored not only by their families but by the entire empire. Their deaths were seen as sacrifices for the greater good—for the future of Rome and the preservation of the values they had fought for. In a sense, their memories lived on through the strength of the empire they helped build. McBath, too, speaks to this desire to honor the memories of those we lose by building a better world, one where the same tragedies do not repeat themselves, and where the children of today can grow up in a world that is safer, more compassionate, and more just.

The act of remembering those we lose is deeply rooted in human history. King David, in the Bible, mourned the death of his son Absalom with a profound lament, saying, "O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! Would I had died instead of you." This poignant sorrow reveals the universal nature of grief, the desire for a life that was taken too soon to have been allowed to blossom. And yet, in his mourning, David’s resolve to lead his people and ensure their safety and prosperity grew stronger. The loss of a loved one can either paralyze us with sorrow or inspire us to move forward with an unwavering determination, just as McBath reflects in her words. The memories of those lost become a fuel for action, a driving force that pushes us to change the world for the better.

The lesson that McBath imparts is clear and powerful: grief, while inevitable, does not have to be the end of the journey. Instead, it can serve as the beginning of a new mission—one of purpose and determination. The memories of the lost are not to be mourned forever but honored through the actions we take in their name. Just as the ancient heroes transformed their grief into action to benefit their communities, so too can we take the pain of our losses and channel it into a better future—one where the sacrifices made by the fallen are not in vain.

In practical terms, we must take action in the face of loss. When a tragedy strikes—whether personal or collective—we must find the strength to build something positive from the ashes of grief. This can mean working toward peace, justice, or healing—creating a world where future generations do not face the same sufferings. We must honor the memories of those lost by ensuring that their legacy lives on in the work we do, in the change we strive to create, and in the way we care for one another. McBath’s determination to create a better world in the wake of personal loss is an example to us all: that through pain, we can find purpose, and through purpose, we can build the future.

Thus, the practical actions we must take are to honor the memories of the fallen by living with purpose. Let us, like the great heroes of the past, turn our grief into a force for good, ensuring that the loss of life does not lead to the end but to the beginning of a world shaped by compassion, wisdom, and determination. Just as the ancients did, let us remember those we have lost, not in sorrow alone, but through the work we do to create a future that honors their sacrifices. Grief does not have to be the end of the story—it can be the inspiration for a future that is better, safer, and more just for all.