My name is Ahmed Osama. I’m a 37-year-old English translator from Gaza, Palestine. Before the war, I lived a quiet and meaningful life with my wife Areej and our four children. We had seven-year-old twins, Malik and Miral, our five-year-old daughter Nesma, and our youngest son Muhammad, who had just turned three. We didn’t have much money, but we had love, joy, and each other, and that was enough.

When the war in Gaza got worse in October 2023, everything changed very quickly. Like so many others, we had to leave our home to try to find safety. My wife and children went to stay at her sister’s house, and I stayed close by at my uncle’s place. Every day, I brought them food or whatever supplies I could find. We were scared all the time, but we kept hoping, praying, and staying strong for each other.

On the night of October 22, I visited my family like I always did. We shared some quiet time, hugs, and promises that things would get better. As I was leaving, they all came to the door to say goodbye, except little Muhammad. He ran after me crying, “Don’t go, Daddy. I want to come with you.” His voice stayed with me as I walked away. I didn’t know it would be the last time I’d see most of them alive.

That night, I heard the bombs falling. The sky was full of fire and noise. Then I heard the terrible news: the neighborhood where my family was staying had been hit by an airstrike. I kept calling, but no one answered. A friend called to tell me what had happened, and I collapsed. When I woke up, it was still dark. I waited through the longest night of my life until morning so I could go to the hospital.

At the hospital, my worst fears came true. My children, Malik, Miral, and Nesma, had died. My wife Areej was badly hurt and in intensive care. Mohammed was alive, but injured and deeply traumatized. Two days later, Areej passed away from her wounds.

I buried my children with my own hands. Two days later, I buried my wife next to them. The pain is something I cannot explain. Losing almost my whole family broke something deep inside me. But I had to keep going, for Muhammad. He is all I have left.
Muhammad was badly hurt. His leg was crushed and needed four surgeries. He had head injuries and was emotionally shattered. He spent weeks in the hospital recovering. When we were finally discharged, we had nowhere to go.

Before the war, I worked as an English translator, but my contract ended just before the attacks started. Since then, I have had no job and no income. Every day is a fight to find food, clean water, and medicine. We’ve lost everything, our house, our jobs, our stability, and the most painful loss of all: the people we loved.

Even with all this pain, I’m doing everything I can to care for Muhammad. He deserves a future with love, care, and peace.

For anyone who wishes to support me, support my son, and what remains of my family, the donation link is:
https://chuffed.org/project/134511-help-us-rebuild-our-lives-after-losing-my-family-home-and-work-in-gaza�

Thank you for reading our story. Thank you for caring.

With deep thanks,
Ahmed Osama

I Said Goodbye at the Door. Hours Later, an Israeli Airstrike Took My Family.