My son is called Oskar.
David Hopmann København Hjælp familier på flugt fra krig i Syrien

My son is called Oskar.

My son is called Oskar. He is three years old. He is sleeping in the room next door. He gave me a goodnight-kiss before he went to bed. Alan Kurdi died at the age of three. He drowned in the Mediterranean when the boat that should have brought him from Turkey to Greece capsized. His father tried to save Alan, his brother and their mother. He saw them die. Alan Kurdi died at the age of three. He could have been my son. I cry when I see his body lying on the beach. Dead. In a few hours my son Oskar will crawl out of his bed, climbing into our bed. He will ask for half of my pillow, get as close to me as he can, hug me and fall asleep again. Alan's father will never experience the love of his son again. Alan drowned in his fathers arms. While we slept safely in our bed. Spare me all the talk of helping locally only, just for today. They try to escape the horrors of war and torture. Spare me the talk of not being able to receive more refugees in Europe. We are one of the richest regions in the world. Support those who help people in need. Support the Danish Refugee Council. - - - People asked me to translate the original text I wrote Thursday night, here is the original: Min søn hedder Oskar. Han er tre år gammel. Han ligger i værelset ved siden af og sover. Han gav mig et godnatkys, inden han lagde sig til at sove. Alan Kurdi blev tre år gammel. Han druknede i Middelhavet, da den båd, der skulle tage ham og hans familie fra Tyrkiet til Grækenland, kæntrede. Hans far prøvede at redde Alan, hans bror og deres mor. Han så dem dø. Alan Kurdi blev tre år gammel. Han kunne have været min søn. Jeg græder, når jeg ser hans krop liggende på stranden. Død. Om et par timer vil min søn Oskar kravle op af sin seng for at lægge sig i vores. Han vil låne halvdelen af min pude, lægge sig tæt op ad min krop, omfavne mig og falde i søvn igen. Alans far kommer aldrig til at opleve sin søns kærlighed igen. Alan druknede i sine fars arme. Mens vi lå trygt i vores seng. Fri mig for al den snak om, at vi skal hjælpe folk i ”nærområderne”, bare i dag. De flygter fra krig og tortur. Fri mig for al den snak om, at vi ikke kan modtage flere flygtninge i Danmark, bare i dag. Vi lever i et af de rigeste lande i verden. Støt dem, der hjælper dem, der er i nød. Støt Dansk Flygtningehjælp.

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Target: 300,000 kr.
Period:
9/3/2015 10/3/2015

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My son is called Oskar.
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