The Throwaway Kids

I cannot even now say how many nights I lay in bed and hugged my pillow to me, burying my face in it, and cried and whispered, Mommy, Mommy or Daddy, Daddy, where are you? I would pray that somehow they could hear me. Sometimes even as young as I was, I felt so desperate, so alone, and I knew Mom and Dad would never come for us. I would lie in my bed in the darkness at night and pray so hard, and I felt that not even God heard me anymore.

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There were so many different homes we were in, and we were so young. We became little throwaways, little sheep. Sometimes we were able to stay with our father but only for a very short time. Whenever Dad could not pay for our board, he was in jail, or sick, we were moved again and again. Always obliging and quiet, learning quickly that crying and begging and clinging to Dad did not help us. We had our times to laugh as children, who even in the worst of their situations can do, and our time to weep as we did all too often. Thank God we had each other, two little sisters against the world that at times seemed too big and scary and extremely uncertain.