The wound was never a stopping point.
Some carried their pain and marched to the frontlines of honor.
They ran toward their highest dream, shedding the world behind them,
answering the call of the homeland.
They reached the dream that had long lived in their hearts
and returned as heroes… as martyrs.
Hassan, a man in his forties, was one of the wounded in the Bayjer massacre.
Despite his injuries, he refused to rest—he insisted on being present on the battlefield when the war broke out.
His wife recalls a touching moment from when he was injured:
Before they could treat him, he started telling the nurses, Stay away from me, there are others in worse condition.
And he began trying to help them however he could…
When he came back home, he told me:
I still have work to finish.
God spared me… because something greater is waiting for me
Interview with the Martyr’s Wife
And Hassan was true to his word… he received what he longed for.
He attained the highest martyrdom,
meeting his Lord as a warrior, brave and unwavering—
walking a path with no return… except to Paradise.
Three stars from a single home,
departing one after the other,
yet never leaving her heart for a moment.
Mohammad Naeem, martyred in the Syria war.
Abdullah Naeem, martyred in South Lebanon.
And Hassan Naeem, the wounded hero who embraced martyrdom after Bayjer.
That wound—his mother feared, even for a moment, that it might take him away from her.
But her heart, knowing her children well, knew that they all leave only as martyrs...
Hassan’s mother recalls a moment that never leaves her memory:
"When the Bayjer explosion happened, I was so worried about him.
He wouldn’t let anyone tell me what had happened—
he came to me himself
to reassure me and keep me from fearing for him.
What mattered most to him was that I wouldn’t be afraid… even more than his own pain."
Today, Salima sits on her balcony, holding the memories of three souls who raised her, witnessed their childhood and youth, and saw them become fathers.
Between their home and their photos, she lives alone… but not lonely.
She talks to them, waters their flowers, and counts the days until she meets them again.
She doesn’t cry because they are gone,
but because no one after them… resembles them.
She is not an ordinary mother—
she is a small homeland, wounded three times, yet never fallen.
