Then, one evening, you are having fun with your foster child, causing him to laugh as he repeatedly lands on a bed full of pillows. His laughter sweetened by the reality that well-meaning fools thought institutions were a good place to raise a child, and that a 2 year old can exist off of formula and rice cereal fed 2x's a day.
And time stops when you realize that after he landed his whole arm is twisted in a way that is not natural, when this boy who never cries begins screaming in pain.
It's lonely, outside of the mob. I miss the days before I caused pain greater than that I was working to heal.
1 comment:
I love you!
Post a Comment