They lived through sad times
  with eight children in a small house
  restricted in choice and quality of goods
  unable to voice opinions, show individuality
  their children, friends, spouses died for their country
Now they share
  telling their stories to foreigners, almost smiling
  speaking through a translator, or alone in faltering English
  gifting us with pieces of them.
Does it hurt, remembering those times?
If it hurts, is it more important that we hear?

and perhaps, through their sharing, we will learn.