Loss. It's never easy. The loss of a child, the loss of a parent, the loss of a friend. Loss is a word that can encompass many, many things too. I've lost a child. I've lost children. One through the greed of others and one through the greed of cancer. I've poured out my feelings over the loss to the greed of cancer. Now I want to pour out my grief over the other. 

In January of 1990, I discovered I was pregnant. I'd only been married two short months and yet, here we were. I wasn't ready to be a parent, but there was joy. So much joy because I was selfish enough to think that for one moment, I'd finally have someone that would love me unconditionally. Someone who would depend on me and need me throughout their life. I did my best. I took care of myself, went to the doctor, took my vitamins, stopped smoking, never did drugs and generally tried my best to make sure my baby was happy and healthy. 

When you were born, I was so happy and you were so beautiful. This little, tiny, scrawling thing that had such a cute little bow mouth and this downy blonde hair. You smelled like hope. Hope for a better world, a better life. And when I took you home to our studio apartment and you screamed and cried because my milk wasn't coming in, I tried to feed you all the time. When we took you to the doctor and he said you weren't getting enough nutrition, I switched you to formula. When you started projectile vomiting that, we took you back and were told to switch to soy, we did and you handled that so much better. But...

We lost our apartment because I wasn't working. The man was trying but not enough so we ended up in a shelter - better than the alternative but not much. When he took you out during the day while I was at school trying to build us a better life, I didn't think anything of it. Somewhere around November of that same year, things were becoming bitter and less joyful. Then, disaster. 

A visit from CPS. I was informed that the man had been hitting you. I never saw this and there were no bruises to explain away. The next thing was your nutritional needs. Somehow the medical records had been accessed (this is before HIPPA) and I was accused of malnourishing you. And given a choice. The choice between placing you in foster care or with a relative. I asked what the chances of getting you back were. They said with CPS, it could be a year or more; with a relative, essentially, we could get you back any time. For me, I thought it was an easy choice. Little did I know what would happen next.