Fro of Power

Solomon had to have an IV to replace some fluids lost after a bout of diarrhea. As the diligent nurses went searching for a vein, they had to shave one side of his head. This was over 2 weeks ago. He still sports the 1/2 mohawk. And his hair, growing at lightening speed, is starting to really exaggerate the asymmetric style.

I asked one of the women at the orphanage if they were going to cut his hair to even out the 1/2-hawk. "Oh NO," she said with surprise. "If you cut his hair, you take away his FORCE."

Little fro of power.

We had a lovely, relaxed morning at the orphanage holding Solomon, letting him fall instantly asleep on our chest. We have to hold him away from us, on our knee if we want to look at those beautiful browns for any period of time. He seems most content curled up next to our heartbeat, and sinking into the comfort of human touch. And we easily ablige.

While Patrick had his turn, the director of the orphanage asked me to see a new baby they recently received. He was only 15 days old, tiny and fragile looking in the large nursery with stacked cribs of children aged 2 months to 2 years.

He was found in a toilet after his mother gave birth to him there and left him. He had been dropped twice during the rescue efforts. When he arrived to the orphanage directly, the pediatrician on staff startied him on 3 different antibiotics as will as IV fluids. After a week on medicines, the little one has graduated to the main nursery. His face is still swollen--likely from the IV meds--but he is eating on his own free will, and fighting each day. He is in a very fragile time in his life, yet has already made it past the biggest hurdle. I sat holding him, thinking about his traumatic beginnings, hoping that the orphanage would give him a fresh start, a new opportunity to take a life that started in the sewer and move it to one where he can grow, excell and be loved.

I thought a lot about his mother. Haiti isn't the only country where children are discarded. I remember stories of babies being found in dumpsters in the States. I wonder if the woman felt like she had no options and couldn't care for a baby. I wondered if she had other kids at home, or what her family said after she emerged from the toilet, unpregnant and without child. Maybe she thought he was dead at birth. Maybe she is still crying for him now. There are as many possibilities as the imagination can hold.

But this little boy is a fighter, and I found myself willing him to keep fighting.

Someone asked us if it is hard to go to the orphanage and leave Solomon there time after time. Yes, it requires a tremendous act of will. But what is even harder is fighting down the bubbling up dialogue in our brains that tries to justify ways we could bring this little boy, that little girl home with us as well. It is hard to put reigns on the fierce protective love that is sparked when looking into the eyes of children whose lives already hold more challenges than their years aught to allow. We fight the American urge to solve the world's problems, one human at a time. What we can do, have free reign to do, is love. And that we do with abandon.