Someone is always sick at the orphanage. Last week Dorothy came home from the hospital on the day that John and Monica were admitted. They were still gone yesterday and today. I meant to ask how they were doing but I didn't get around to it until this afternoon when I was feeding Janina, John's twin sister. That was when I got the sad news that John died. He was only four weeks old. The twins had been at the orphanage for three weeks, after they were abandoned in the forest. Janina is bigger but John had more hair. I had trouble telling the twins apart unless they were next to each other. It breaks my heart to think that will no longer be a problem.
John's death reminds me of how fragile life is. I live in a place where there are no guarantees that a baby will survive into adulthood. Today I realized just how attached I get to these children and how vulnerable that leaves me. So I sit here crying for John, that poor abandoned baby and I try to take comfort in the fact that he has found the peace that this world could not give him.
Into the Fire
6 years ago