Help Mahmoud Mounis get medical care for his sick parents
United States
Hello, I hope these words reach you in peace, even though peace is something we no longer know here.
My name is Mahmoud, I’m 20 years old, and I live in Gaza—a place where dreams die young, and life feels like a never-ending nightmare. I write to you with a heart shattered by pain and despair. War has taken everything from us—our home, our safety, our hope.
My father is battling late-stage cancer. His body is growing weaker every day, and we have no access to proper treatment, no pain relief, nothing but the silence of a dark, cold room and the sound of his suffering. I watch him fade away, and I can’t do anything. That helplessness is a pain I can’t describe.
My mother is also sick—her liver failing, her strength fading. She hides her pain, like all mothers do, but I see it in her eyes, in the way she struggles just to stand, to breathe.
Our home has been destroyed, reduced to rubble by the strikes. We sleep on broken floors, if we sleep at all.
The nights are long – filled with fear, with the sound of drones above and the silence of hunger within. We live in darkness – no electricity, no clean water, no certainty if we will survive the next day. This isn’t life. It’s survival in its cruelest form.
I am writing to ask—to beg—for any kind of help. Not for myself, but for my father who is slowly dying, and my mother who is fading beside him. We have no one. I have nothing left to give them but my voice, and I hope that voice reaches someone who cares.
Thank you for reading this. Even that…means the world to me.
Anonymous
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$10,000.00
Funding Goal -
$0.00
Funds Raised -
0
Days to go -
Campaign Never Ends
Campaign End Method
Product Description
United States
Hello, I hope these words reach you in peace, even though peace is something we no longer know here.
My name is Mahmoud, I’m 20 years old, and I live in Gaza—a place where dreams die young, and life feels like a never-ending nightmare. I write to you with a heart shattered by pain and despair. War has taken everything from us—our home, our safety, our hope.
My father is battling late-stage cancer. His body is growing weaker every day, and we have no access to proper treatment, no pain relief, nothing but the silence of a dark, cold room and the sound of his suffering. I watch him fade away, and I can’t do anything. That helplessness is a pain I can’t describe.
My mother is also sick—her liver failing, her strength fading. She hides her pain, like all mothers do, but I see it in her eyes, in the way she struggles just to stand, to breathe.
Our home has been destroyed, reduced to rubble by the strikes. We sleep on broken floors, if we sleep at all.
The nights are long – filled with fear, with the sound of drones above and the silence of hunger within. We live in darkness – no electricity, no clean water, no certainty if we will survive the next day. This isn’t life. It’s survival in its cruelest form.
I am writing to ask—to beg—for any kind of help. Not for myself, but for my father who is slowly dying, and my mother who is fading beside him. We have no one. I have nothing left to give them but my voice, and I hope that voice reaches someone who cares.
Thank you for reading this. Even that…means the world to me.
Anonymous
| ID | Name | Amount | |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1244 | Listing Agent | [email protected] | |
| 1215 | Listing Agent | [email protected] |
