The open air truck backed into the orphanage. To say I was unprepared is an understatement.
It had been 5 years since my eyes had seen an orphanage…the last one held my own baby, my Liv, sights that can not be un-seen, heaviness that has been hard to shake. I had walked the grounds of her make-shift home, her humble beginnings, shaky legged and overwhelmed.
I did not make the connection of the significance until my feet hit the dusty ground in that Haitian orphanage.
The babies came around the corner and I felt the blood leave my face…I felt the familiar crushing weight of heart break, of loss, of feeling unable to do enough.
And these babies, they were hungry, I mean really hungry. Skin and bones they danced and sang and giggled and hung around my neck. All the while I was drowning in my own heart…frantically searching for the surface to come up for air.