I’m always startled at how many broken families there are out there in the world. Every time I pick up a book and read about real people with real broken lives, I am astonished anew. I don’t know why, really. After all, among my friends, there are many of us wounded children. Some more so than others. Why would the world of books be any different?

I think part of what makes it hurt more now is because I am a parent. Now that I have my two precious babies, it becomes even more inconceivable to me that there are bad (and sometimes, not so much bad but inept) people out there – and that the collateral damage results in more broken children who grow up to be broken adults. Sometimes the breaking is accidental, incidental consequences. Sometimes, it is purposeful and cruel. Whatever the reason, it physically hurts me to read about it, yet I cannot look away and plow through anyway.

I think of DD and DS, how small they are and how vulnerable. Of course, there are times when I want to throttle DS (like this afternoon when he wouldn’t stop whining/crying for NO discernible reason other than perhaps he was hungry but mostly because he is TWO). But even when I yell or grab him a little roughly, I always feel bad and force myself to calm down. I can’t imagine myself seriously damaging him. I suppose that is a good thing. Otherwise, my friends who read my blog would call CPS.

It is so sad and heartbreaking to think that there are millions of children out there who are ill used and unwanted and unloved. It breaks my heart that there are millions of children who ARE loved and cared for – but because of pure chance, live in a part of the world where their parents cannot provide for them in the manner in which I can provide lavishly for my kids. It isn’t fair – and yet, I am grateful beyond measure that it isn’t the other way around.