How to Soothe our Pain When we Can’t Help who we Want to Help
Some of my little friends from Far East, Russia
Marina was seven and Jula was five, like my daughter-to-be. I don’t know how old Jenya, Maksím, André, Dasha, Ksenya and Natasha were, but it would have been within the same range. I don’t remember the names of the others, though I have never been successful at driving their faces from my mind. About a dozen of them shared a dormitory room where two rows of children’s beds—with painted wooden headboards—waited for the child assigned to that space. Each bed was made...
Read the rest here, on Huffington Post
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