 During more than five decades of armed conflict in Colombia, 8.4 million people experienced grave human rights violations, including forced disappearances, torture, and land dispossession, amongst others. Out of this, 7.4 million have been internally displaced. I find myself living in Arrino because of the violence that broke out in my home in Putumayo. On August 21st of 2001, I was leaving work when I sensed someone was following my husband and I. When I arrived home, my son, pale and frightened, told me, Mom, the paramilitaries came. They said, tell your parents we will come back later. Since that day, we have never returned home. We managed to flee to Mocoa with my children, where we had to beg others to survive. Armed groups had already killed many people. They dismembered them, they threw them into the river, so we knew what awaited us. Our hardship was such that we tried to return to my town in 2003 because there we had our community and it was difficult to adapt to a new place where everything is unknown. But when I returned, the paramilitaries captured me. My eldest son rescued me. He held the police find me. And because of that, they took the revenge. They killed my son. I wanted to die because I lost my oldest son, the one who always held my hand, the one who was like a father to my other children. I swore before the body of my son that I would not rest one day, one minute, until I found whoever killed him. And that is what I did. With a camera and a tape recorder, I began searching until four months later I found him. Justice would be served, not in full, but at least some justice, and this minimized my pain. In my hands, I hold a hammock that I've had for 15 years since my son's death. It happened that one day, I decided to go to the prison to confront the paramilitary who killed my son. In that cell, another prisoner was knitting and he hurt my sorrow. He told me that he was going to make a hammock stitch with my son's name, Elwin, in his honor. I keep this in a small bag, together with the shirt my son wore when he was killed, and together with this camera and tape recorder, which were my sons, he used them in his studies. When he died, I used the same recorder and camera to search for him. I see my son in these objects. They represent his memory. Every day feels like the first day I lost him. When we became victims of forced displacement, we did not have the support that other displaced persons have today. We had to heal on our own. My family not only lost my son, but eight family members to the conflict. Some have been forcibly disappeared, others murdered. Today, many organizations are helping victims overcome some of their pain. I feel I'm becoming more resilient to the pain I suffered when I was displaced.