Two

I do not wish you joy without sorrow, 
   Nor endless day without the healing dark, 
Nor brilliant sun without the restful shadow, 
   Nor tides that never turn against your bark. 
I wish you love, and strength, and faith, and wisdom, 
   Goods, gold enough to help some needy one.
I wish you songs, but also blessed silence, 
   And God's sweet peace when every day is done. 
                                        - Dorthy Nell McDonald

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The difference in two years.

Last week was one of celebration around here. She woke up on her second birthday with a cheery, “hi” and a giggle, and upon being picked up she immediately nuzzled her face into the crook of my neck for her morning snuggles.

Across the ocean, another blonde two-year-old woke up in her crib. She didn’t speak to anyone. She didn’t snuggle. No one was there.

We had Lucky Charms for breakfast (she ate the marshmallows) and her favorite breakfast sausage while we listened to nursery rhymes at the kitchen table. That night we celebrated with chocolate cake and ice cream. She had a sugar crash and a bit of a no-nap melt down. Her daddy hugged her through it, trying to help her make sense of her new emotions.

The other little blond two-year-old stayed in her crib. All day. The nannies came and gave her a bottle. It was hard to eat and she didn’t get enough. There was never enough. She’s never known what it is to be full.

We prepped all week for her Bubble Guppies party. Even on our new budget, we wanted to make sure her day was special.

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There were cute snacks, she wore her brand new Bubble Guppies shirt, we had all kinds of bubble fun, and shared an adorable cake with a family who adores her. She was showered with gifts; magnet builders, Twinkle Toes shoes, an adorable bike, giant blocks, and more.

In her crib, the little blonde girl wore clothes that didn’t match or even really fit. They didn’t belong to her. She shook a rattle that also wasn’t hers and chewed her hands. She looked at the walls and dozed in and out of sedated sleep.

At night, we changed into warm jammies, climbed up on the stool daddy made to brush our teeth. We read, Good Night Dragons for the 9,376th time, wound up her musical lion, prayed our nightly prayer, and blew kisses all the way out the door. She was asleep in minutes.

Safe.   
Loved.   
Cherished for exactly who she is. 

In her orphanage, the beautiful blonde girl continued to lay in her crib with her rattle. The few nannies bustled around, trying, failing, to care for all the children they were responsible for. Too many children. Too little food. Too little supplies. She went to sleep.

Alone.
Scared.
Hungry.
Forgotten.

Last week we celebrated our daughter; her milestones, her personality, her temper, her spunk, her love, her curiosity, her stubbornness, and her joy. Last week we celebrated a two-year-old for being EXACTLY who God created her to be.

Last week a two-year-old died alone in her crib. Last week a girl died for being EXACTLY who God created her to be.

What is the difference in two years?

A mindset.

A backwards mindset that has been instilled in a county, telling them disabilities create children who are unworthy of life and love.

Unworthy of existence.

These girl’s two years contrasted in every single way possible. They didn’t have to. We can’t change everything, but we don’t have to sit back and do nothing.

I do not feel guilty for the way we dote on our daughter, she deserves to be adored simply for being her. However, I am heartbroken for ‘Raven’. She deserved to be adored as well. I hope that her story will move the hearts of others, of you, to act.

****I do not know the exact details of Raven’s story. I know that what I wrote is common for children in her orphanage. Some of which was reported to have been her life. I know she suffered. I know she died. I know she didn’t have to.