These are my brothers.
And I love them dearly.
They both tower over me, by at least 6 or 7 inches, and they can pin me in 15 seconds flat. I’m rendered defenseless and I just have to endure their torture, which is composed entirely of tickling and making me hit myself.
I’m 26, and this still happens to me. Seriously?
They’re so strong, and they’re so healthy, and their lives are so full.
I sit here and think, what about these family members that bring the babies here? So much of my time is spent on the babies, their stories, their hurt, how their situations are unfair.
I don’t always think of the Mothers, the Fathers, …the sisters.
Noe was one of the rescued children this week, brought down from the mountains, malnutrition, breathing issues, and cerebral palsy… just to name a few of his compounding health problems. Thirteen years old, 42 pounds.
His sister is here with him, I don’t know her name, I don’t know her story, I don’t know why it’s her that is here and not their parents… but I do know, that she possesses a fierce love.
Because I feel it too. I know how I treasure my brothers, and how I would do anything for them. I know that she, beyond any doubt, is aching for him to be well, happy, and thriving.
This, along with so many other things, is what was on my mind today as we brought in another 4 children and their families, while simultaneously mourning at the funeral of another child who passed away.
And here I am, left desiring that for her, the sister, there will be healing and fulfillment of the hope that she’s clung to- as with all of her strength and compassion, she’s held onto Noe’s hand.