RooI was holding my little boy (at almost 9, not so little anymore) on my lap the other day and I was looking at his hand. His long fingers, still slightly pudgy, tapering to perfect little fingernails. I took off his sock and looked at his little foot, again with clear beautiful skin and perfect tiny toenails. He, of course, thought I was weird for doing this but my thoughts were, “What if I never got to see this again? What if I could never hold this warm little hand, or look into these lovely clear green eyes? Or touch these sweet adorable freckles?” I’m not sure how I’d get my head off the pillow each day.

I once knew a woman who lost a young child to an accident. She held the toddler in her arms for hours after his death and when the nurses finally insisted that she give up the body she asked if she could undress him so she could look at him one last time. She said she wanted to memorize every inch of him so she’d never forget. Especially his little fingers and toes.

The mothers and fathers in war-torn countries encounter this nightmare every day. They’re forced to live with the horror and the guilt of not having protected their babies from harm. Their children become statistics that are reported to us daily, but, believe me, as a parent I can tell you that a child is not a statistic. Even a grown up child.

Oppose war…any day, any place, any time….It’s not worth it.

1 thought on “Child

  1. My cousin lost a young child, a young mentally handicapped boy they’d adopted.

    They held a burial for him on a cold winter day and the burial crew was delayed with another task. When the ceremony was over, my cousin and her family were forced by the cold to leave, the small casket still above the ground.

    She told me it was the hardest thing to drive away, and leave her little boy, to see his little casket in her rearview mirror, abandoned to the harsh elements.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *