Sometimes I wish I could go over there and just take her home! But I can't. So I'll do as much as I can to help her find a family. This was posted by Briana from So That They May Have A Voice. I hear them. They speak out in the night - well, night or day, I don't know. Sometimes the light comes in through the slats in the blinds, but more often it's just dark. I hear them, the ones much older than me, speaking - shouting - crying out. I hear the ones younger than me, the ones new here, who are terrified beyond belief. They cry for their caretakers at the baby house to come back and get them.
But here, nobody comes back for anybody. You learn that really quickly!
Sometimes I wonder about how long I've been here. I've got no way of knowing for sure. The days blur together, and the only time I can tell the time of day is by when I'm fed. I've been eating the same thing since I got here. Some kind of mush, bland and tasteless on my tongue. Nowadays, I barely notice it going down. The dull emptiness in my stomach is a constant companion.
There was a car I rode in when they brought me here from the baby house. Before that car ride, everything was a lot clearer in my mind.
We - I say "we" because there were lots of other kids there - were in a very small building in proportion to how many of us there were there. I remember the caretakers who tried so desperately to make ends meet with the little funding there was. Still, we got enough to eat most of the time. A few times mothers and fathers came in to pick up a child they were adopting. My favorite caretaker told me this. She said they were from across the ocean.
I kept waiting for someone to pick me up, to look at me with that loving glow in their eyes and to speak to me comfortingly in that strange language. But it never happened. I had a wheelchair. I shared one with another little boy, because neither of us could walk - I still can't. Now I lie in a crib, day after day. At first I fought to get out, to get back to the life I knew. Now my arms and legs burn from the places they tied the sheets around me tightly - too tightly. I'm effectively immobilized.
On good days they change the sheets on my arms, but sometimes I stay like this for quite a while, until my hands and feet have gone so numb that it's easy to forget they're there. Once in a while, they strip the whole bed and change those sheets, too, but only when they're nearly coated in my own bodily waste.
I wait and I watch, but nobody ever leaves here once they come in. The only way they leave is limp and lifeless, wrapped in a blanket, held gingerly by an adult whose face I never see. Someday I know it'll be me under that blanket.
When I was at the baby house, I used to try and crawl into a mother's lap, or raise my hands for a father to pick me up. Sometimes I'd get a gentle hug, but only if the caretakers weren't watching. Still, I kept trying. I haven't seen a mother and father even once where I live now.
I just wanted a taste of what love was like. But it seems that the more fleeting moments you have of being loved, the more you want.
I just want a mother and father to come for me!!!
Am I your Daughter????????