I work in a home for youth in crises. My guess is that the kids mentioned in these articles will be visiting our hallowed halls before too long. Or maybe visiting Henrico’s Finest. It’s a toss-up.
I never know how to handle these things, emotionally. I really want to adopt all these kids, bring them into my home and show them that there are people on this Earth who don’t want to hurt them. Show them that they can have a real life, an honest life, and that they could enjoy that life. I want to just hug them all and make it better. I want to believe that I can give them enough love and all will be OK. Intellectually, I know that’s stupid. But I want to believe.
Hubby says that’s what comes of having young children. Our kids’ emotions are real enough, but a hug and an understanding word – letting them know they’re not alone in the world – usually works to calm their fears. A night-light performs miracles. Not so with kids who have to live in the carnage described in these articles. I think Hubby may be right about this.
Last night, Youngest Son shouted from the family room, “Mmmoooooahmmmmmeeee!” I was in the kitchen – in direct line of sight of him when he yelled. When I answered with a quiet but sarcastic, “Yes, Love?” (shall I tap your shoulder?) Youngest Son said, “Just wanted to make sure you were close.” Damn. That’s what they need at six, seven – on up to the teens, and even later (though they’d never admit it). Hell, sometimes I need that now. They don’t even have to like us – they just have to know we’re close.
What about these kids? Where to, from here?