m.e.
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[Carolyn, I know this is O/T. I hope that's okay.]
I wanted to share a short story I wrote about why I will be wearing ared ribbon this Thursday, and every day. I hope you will just take amoment to stop and think about what you can do - wear a ribbon, donateto an AIDs-related charity, spread the word...every little bit helps.
As some of you know, I spent two weeks in Ethiopia this past summer.During our time there, we visited Mother Theresa's mission in AddisAbaba. The nuns at the orphanage cared for over 400 children with HIVand AIDs, and were still forced to turn away more every day.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The first thing that struck me was the silence.
No, scratch that - the first thing that struck me was the little boythat ran out to greet us, his face covered in pustules, the sign of aninfection that his body could not fight off. We had all been expectingthings like this, of course, but the reality of it was still shocking.
But past the little boy, it was the quietness that was mostdisconcerting. We were led into a room with about a dozen smallchildren, ranging in age from infants to 3 or 4 years old. None of thechildren made a sound, and for a moment, no one in our group could findtheir voice.
Kids soon crowded around us, and at the sight of new toys, balls, andbubbles, the animated chatter of children rose above the deafeningsilence.
I found myself in front of a crib with two infants. The one on the leftwas sleeping, while the one on the right stared vacantly ahead. I slidmy finger into his tiny fist, and his gaze shifted towards the objectin his hand. He didn't raise his arm, though, and looking at him moreclosely, I could see his chest rising and falling rapidly. Weak. Dying.There's no way a person can possibly prepare themself for this.
I looked over at Emily. She was sitting in a rocking chair with twolittle girls on her lap. Our eyes met, and we each knew what the otherwas thinking: it isn't fair. But then boy ran over to show herhis balloon and she smiled brightly, despite the tears in her eyes.
The little guy in the crib began to cough. I gently scooped him up, hishead resting on my shoulder, and rubbed his back. Despite thecomfortable temperature in the room, he was covered in layers ofclothing. I was later told that the nuns do this so that the otherchildren won't know how sick the babies are. I slid my hand up underall those shirts, rested my palm on his back, and swayed back andforth. His bones jutted out under thin skin, and his lungs gasped andrattled. But he seemed to relax under the warmth of human touch, so wejust stood there for awhile. He slept, I prayed. What else could I do?I wanted to get out of there. I wanted to curl up in a corner somewherefar, far away, and wake up to find a world where there weren't millionsof AIDs orphans. To face the terrible reality of this situation wouldbe too shattering.
Lord, have mercy...
So I prayed for him, a prayer no one should have to make over a baby - one for as painless a life as possible.
I prayed for the other kids in the room. For the hundreds of childrenin the orphanage, and the thousands more around the country. For thosemillions of orphans, all over the continent. And for every preciouslife cut short by such an indiscriminate killer.
[url]http://www.worldaidsday.org[/url]
I wanted to share a short story I wrote about why I will be wearing ared ribbon this Thursday, and every day. I hope you will just take amoment to stop and think about what you can do - wear a ribbon, donateto an AIDs-related charity, spread the word...every little bit helps.
As some of you know, I spent two weeks in Ethiopia this past summer.During our time there, we visited Mother Theresa's mission in AddisAbaba. The nuns at the orphanage cared for over 400 children with HIVand AIDs, and were still forced to turn away more every day.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The first thing that struck me was the silence.
No, scratch that - the first thing that struck me was the little boythat ran out to greet us, his face covered in pustules, the sign of aninfection that his body could not fight off. We had all been expectingthings like this, of course, but the reality of it was still shocking.
But past the little boy, it was the quietness that was mostdisconcerting. We were led into a room with about a dozen smallchildren, ranging in age from infants to 3 or 4 years old. None of thechildren made a sound, and for a moment, no one in our group could findtheir voice.
Kids soon crowded around us, and at the sight of new toys, balls, andbubbles, the animated chatter of children rose above the deafeningsilence.
I found myself in front of a crib with two infants. The one on the leftwas sleeping, while the one on the right stared vacantly ahead. I slidmy finger into his tiny fist, and his gaze shifted towards the objectin his hand. He didn't raise his arm, though, and looking at him moreclosely, I could see his chest rising and falling rapidly. Weak. Dying.There's no way a person can possibly prepare themself for this.
I looked over at Emily. She was sitting in a rocking chair with twolittle girls on her lap. Our eyes met, and we each knew what the otherwas thinking: it isn't fair. But then boy ran over to show herhis balloon and she smiled brightly, despite the tears in her eyes.
The little guy in the crib began to cough. I gently scooped him up, hishead resting on my shoulder, and rubbed his back. Despite thecomfortable temperature in the room, he was covered in layers ofclothing. I was later told that the nuns do this so that the otherchildren won't know how sick the babies are. I slid my hand up underall those shirts, rested my palm on his back, and swayed back andforth. His bones jutted out under thin skin, and his lungs gasped andrattled. But he seemed to relax under the warmth of human touch, so wejust stood there for awhile. He slept, I prayed. What else could I do?I wanted to get out of there. I wanted to curl up in a corner somewherefar, far away, and wake up to find a world where there weren't millionsof AIDs orphans. To face the terrible reality of this situation wouldbe too shattering.
Lord, have mercy...
So I prayed for him, a prayer no one should have to make over a baby - one for as painless a life as possible.
I prayed for the other kids in the room. For the hundreds of childrenin the orphanage, and the thousands more around the country. For thosemillions of orphans, all over the continent. And for every preciouslife cut short by such an indiscriminate killer.
[url]http://www.worldaidsday.org[/url]
ray:
