I close my eyes, and I can see her – the child I used to be. The little girl who cried herself to sleep every night, who was in so much pain, and felt so lost in a world that did not understand her.
“Things have to get better someday,” she thought. She held on with that belief, though the years passed, and the pain held on.
The child who felt abandoned in a world where she didn’t belong. “I want to go home. Please don’t leave me here,” she would plead silently into the night. She didn’t know who had left her here, or why, but believed they had the power to come and take her home. So why wouldn’t they?
Was there something horrible about her, a reason why they rejected her, and left her here in a place full of pain?
She cried, and cried into the darkness, but no one came. She cried until there were no tears left, and the breathing came in spurts. “Please let me go home.”
And the thought would come, “you will help the children someday,” and the thought calmed her. If she was here to help… If the pain was here for a reason, so that she could help another, then okay. She would stay. It would hurt, but she would stay for them.
I think about that child – the one I see when I close my eyes – and I cry for her. I want to take her in my arms and tell her, “I am sorry. I am so sorry,” because in all of my failures throughout my life, I am afraid I failed her most of all.