Late last night Rosebud and I were sitting in the kitchen while the rest of the house slept. I was rocking and singing and kissing those delicious cheeks as I’ve done so many times before. She softly slurped her formula laced with teething tabs and held my finger in her chubby little hand waiting for some relief to the throbbing gums. Then I glanced up and saw the picture of the woman who created this beautiful child and my heart broke for her. Did she ever have someone to rock her and sing to her and to ease her hurts? Does she have any idea what she is missing?
Over the past few weeks I’ve been finding myself staring at that picture more and more, studying her face and trying to look into the cold brown eyes that I imagine are hiding so much. There was once a time when I judged her. I was jealous of her. I was angry with her. But lately those feelings have melted. Its occurred to me that there are enough people in this world to pass judgement on women like her. That’s not my job here.
On a recent business trip I made small talk with the grandmotherly woman sitting next to me on the plane. After looking at pictures of all 12 of her grandchildren, I bragged about my wonderful foster kids and the amazing light in their hearts. As kind as she was, she responded as so many do, “How could a woman do that to her children? It’s just awful. She should be ashamed of herself – and just give them up to someone who can raise them better.”