The one girl that got me the most, was the girl that died. ICC and is a private organization that started because they saw the care of the children and needed to do something for the children to survive. Before and without their care, the kids that get brought to the welfare center have an 85% death rate, but with their care it is only 15%. Drastic difference. They deal with basic things like, ‘you have to feed the kids or they will die, and it doesn’t matter if you don’t think they will be adopted and you will not gain a profit off that child, you still have to feed them.’ They judge the kids that come in as ‘adoptable’ and ‘un-adoptable’ and care for them accordingly. ICC has truly changed that place and saved so many children’s lives, and have so many more.
One girl was healthy when she got there, seemingly normal little girl, had a full and good set of teeth. She was left to be forgotten and discarded, to be unloved and uncared for. Who deserves that? She had bedsores on her head because no body ever moved or held her. Her pants were held on by tight rope that had cut sores in her hips. She was the skinniest person I have ever seen.
In the time she was there, before she could be moved over to the ICC she had deteriorated so much that she was literally skin and bones, unresponsive starved. I picked her up out of her bed and there was absolutely no response or recollection of me at all. She started seizing all the time and ended up dying before they could bring her over to care and love her properly.
How can someone starve to death in an office building? How can so many children waste away into nothingness and sometimes unrecoverable disability due to the shock and trauma of the hell they lived in? Where is the love in that place? Who’s to judge who lives and dies? Who’s to say this one is not worth trying to feed? There was no shortage of food by any stretch, there were beds in the staffs’ offices because they take their after lunch nap in their office. Snacks and donations were brought in by people touring the center almost daily, and yet I witnessed a little girl, somebody’s beloved child, somebody’s sister, granddaughter, friend, die. Why? What is so different about her than me? Why do I get to be loved, why do I have joy and hope, but hers was taken from her?
