Tiny, Broken Spirits

Over the past week I have been getting very emotional thinking about the hard life of thousands (if not millions) of kids CJ's age not getting what they need out of their parents. Every morning, CJ wakes up smiling and asking for "sheewal" or "nana" (cereal or banana)and he knows without a doubt that Mommy or Daddy will get it for him, along with some milk. He plays happily all day long, not a care in the world, except for when his Barney show is over and he gets upset about having to say "bye, bye Barney". His eyes are bright and he has no anxiety about what's next. If only every child, everywhere could have the same security. I was talking to Chuck and my Mom about this, in tears, telling them both how sad I felt for those tiny spirits out there, waking up hungry and not getting anything because Mommy is passed out drunk or locked in her room with some boyfriend. Even worse, when Mommy does get up, she has no concern for the hunger her toddler is feeling, instead she curses at him to stop crying as it will interrupt the boyfriend who might then leave her for having such a "bratty" baby. These tiny spirits are broken every day. I think about CJ being treated like this and it literally makes me sick to my stomach. I look at him and think he would just curl up and die if nobody responded to him, loved him or even bothered to feed him or change his dirty diaper. These scenarios are not out of the ordinary...they happened to me and that still happen to too many children on a daily basis. And then, if and only if they survive those young years, they grow up and nothing seems to get better. Life is an endless battle against perpetrators, abusers, liars and every other kind of scum out there. This is the life out of which most adopted children come. It is not a fantasy world, these things and much worse happen. I look into CJ's eyes and I see so much hope for his future, they are bright and full of life. I wonder what my eyes must have looked like at eighteen months. Certainly not bright, most likely full of fear and insecurity, and I was not even two years old. I can't remember how many times I cried myself to sleep before I turned ten years old. That is not a memory any child should have. And we wonder how or why so many adopted children simply can't get it together. It takes so much to mend a broken spirit...many adults cannot do it after a single tragedy, yet children's entire life, starting in the womb, are one, long, tragic trainwreck in which they have no control and we expect them to get it together. How does one regain those lost hugs, kisses, mealtimes, band aids, praises, winks? We cannot, and yet we must keep moving forward, providing for our children what was beaten out of us at such tender and young ages. It is horrifying to think of CJ having to endure one day of my childhood, and so my life is dedicated to making sure he never will. I wish others who also walked in my footsteps so early on would all do the same, and we could stop the generational mistreatment of innocent, tiny spirits.