Broken Angels

Her tiny body was bloody and bruised. She was in the arms of the police officer who had taken her from the brand new home that she had been staying in. Her large brown eyes had no more tears. They were dry and empty and void of light. Though only two, she already had the eyes of a frightened old woman. She will never really be a child again. The innocence has been beaten out of her.

It was her baby sitter, a mentally ill woman that we had been working with for years. A lot of progress has been made as she was stabilized on her medication, became functional and compliant, and was well on her way to becoming one of our success stories. She had moved into her first real home. Everything was working like it should.

Then she agreed to baby sit. And then we don't know. The neighbors heard a baby crying. Screaming. Sobbing. The police were called. Something had snapped and years of progress were immediately wiped away.

And the police will take the child to the Department of Children and Family Services, whose budget has been repeatedly raped by the Governor and the elected people who call themselves leaders. Hopefully, enough compassion is still funded to nurse this tiny broken angel back to health.

The woman will go to jail which is the largest provider of mental health services in the state. Another great example of political leadership.

The staff is devastated as they ask questions that have no answers. They did their best, gave their all, only to have success become tragedy in the blink of an eye.

And over the weekend I was reminded just how sad the world can be. Innocent babies are beaten. A friend writes me full of sadness because a friend of hers was murdered by a gang. Rather than embrace the love that surrounds him a man drinks himself to oblivion because he has lost the capacity to give and receive love. Homes are abandoned leaving dejected lovers alone and crying.

Somewhere, a guitar gently weeps.

None of it makes any sense. There is no rhyme or reason. And in the end, we are left with one another to get ourselves through it. We hug. Cry together. Sit in silence. Make potato saled for each other because we can't think of anything else to do.

And then we carry on. Because there is nothing else to do.