Thank you so much for your thoughts, suggestions, and amounts of empathy shared in the last blog post! I know it must take time to leave such incredible comments, and we so appreciate it. I think both tesoro and me were surprised by how many said, "us too!" At the same time, we were both incredibly saddened by how many said, "us too!"
Our sweet babies.
A couple days ago I watched this video. Hearing that cry, seeing that mother... my heart. Oh, my heart. I can not help but see my son through them. See his mother. See his cousins, siblings, aunts, uncles, grandparents.
The morning prior to the emergency room visit, Leone would scream out in agony. It ripped me apart. I knew I had a good 45-minute drive to get him to a doctor, and the idea of him hurting and my not being able to help him as he was safely tucked into his car seat? Terrible. It sucked. SUCKED. I wanted nothing more but for him to not be in pain- and all I could do was drive my car and sing soothing songs. Counting on a doctor. Knowing there was an end in sight. Knowing that soon, he would be better.
It's hard (incredibly hard doesn't even begin to touch on it, does it?) to think of my boy crying out in hunger. And then to not have that need met. From my own limited experience, I know that starvation physically hurts (whether it happens by choice or not). It mentally hurts. It latches on to you and becomes the only thing you can think about.
Hunger becomes you.
Oh, how his mother must have felt torn. Torn, helpless, scared. I have heard his screams, and I know how they shake you to the core.
I think about her, I think about them. I think about how they can't rush to the doctor. How they can't just open a box of crackers to subside the itch in the tummy. How the solutions can't be found. How helpless this all is.
Hunger. Death. Loss. Agony.
Yes, Leone, yes. It makes sense that you are afraid. That you don't want to share your goldfish. I get it. And I love you so much.
Please consider donating.