So, here I am again, coming to you, telling you my woes, telling you of all the misery in my life, all the pain and worry and.... Oh wait... no, that�s not me, Sorry, nevermind.

*chuckles lamely*

Anyway, the rage and anger have burned down a bit... I�m not as furious as I was. I�m much more competant, I�m much more able to function. To... deal with the emotions which filled me so full. I realize that I am far more angry at the bastage that hurt my friend than I am at some 14 year old trauma.

I wonder if my anger has a true foundation. I mean, what right do I have to be angry with someone when I don�t know them?

Well, I�ll tell you what right I have. I don�t have to know a child molester to know that what they do is wrong. Nor do I have to know them to feel rage and anger at their actions. But why do I feel anger and rage at their actions? Because they are destroying something innocent. They are using something that they have no right to use. Power. And they�re using that power to cow, hurt, damage and destroy something innocent.

I have studied the subject of child molestation. I hated that study. Not because of the subject matter, but because of my internal reaction.

I remember one night, after class, I was really, really, really messed up. I couldn�t handle it. What I really and truly needed, was to have my faith in males reestablished. That didn�t happen. My father was out of town, the one male friend I had in town wasn�t available. I was ripped apart from the inside out at seeing the material I had to witness, that I felt nauseus. But I couldn�t do anything about it.

There was a period of time there when I thought about being a Guardian Ad Lidum: a state employee whose focus is solely on the welfare of the child. The GAL appears in court and represents the child/ren. The GAL also sees to defending the child�s welfare when it comes to neglectful/abusive/molesting parents.

Unfortunately, I would not make a good GAL. Why? Because I would get so fucking pissed off with the numbnuts assholes out there, that I would make stupid mistakes. Like refusing to let the parents who have not yet been terminated, have visitation with their children. I would be making stupid mistakes like taking the children, physically, away from parents or out of the foster system and hiding them. *rolls her eyes* Not a good situation. I would get harder and more angry and more violent. And then, the next thing that would happen, is I would shut down.

I would cut off my emotions completely. I wouldn�t be able to handle all the pain, sorrow, misery and frustration. I wouldn�t be able to see these helpless children being abused and NOT get postal on some asshole�s hind end.

So, I think it�s better for someone else to do the work. And may God have mercy on me if ever someone harms my own children. You better believe it!

That has always been a sore spot for me. To me, children are a precious and awesome gift. I know that there are some kids out there who are already bastages. But I have seen enough �good� children, that I know there are some out there who are the most precious, most loved, most adored and most worthy of all of that.

My children? My children are loved and cherished already and they don�t even breathe yet. *chuckles*

I was asked once, a long time ago, what I would do if put in a one or the other situation... save one, not both, ya know. And the two people placed on the block were my husband and my child. Neither were a reality at the time. I chose my child.

I have heard so many people say that they would chose to save the husband/wife because they could always have more children... but please... no. I can not make a choice which will kill my own child.

I suppose that�s one reason why I detest the idea of Abortion. I mean, if it works for you, more power to ya, I won�t think about it, I won�t allow the idea to cross my mind, because it absolutely sickens me.

My child. A life. A being, growing from within me. A miracle gifted me by God Himself. How could I kill that? How could I possibly, ever, ever, ever kill my child? Not at 1 month old. Not at 3 months old. Not at birth, not beyond birth. Especially not beyond birth.

My mother once described what it was like to have a child. (to have me anyway) She said it was like having your physical heart walking around outside your body.

I understand that analogy. To have something so intrinsicly a part of you... something so vital that there is nothing which could ever sever the bond there... to see that thing which is you walking around outside of you... that�s got to be some massively heady, frightening and amazing stuff.

I want children. Many children. I�m not keen on the pain part, but I do want children. At least five.

I�m serious. I want lots of children. And yes, as sappy as it may sound, I like holding babies. Not when there are other people around, but... well...

I remember when my neice was about four months old. She was precious and tender and so soft and small and innocent. So pure and complete and whole. And I would sit there, late, late, late at night, so very late at night. I would just hold her close to me, rest her upon my chest and rock back and forth with her. I would do that Mom�s Pat (TM) where the babe is resting its head upon your shoulder, and one arm is gently holding the babe to your chest while the other hand is lightly and rhythmicly patting the babe�s bottom.

It�s amazing that a child can sleep through that sometimes.

But I would sit there, so late at night, just Brandace and me. And I would hold her close to me and I would sing to her and I would whisper how special and precious she was. And I would whisper my love to her. And I would whisper how much her mother and father loved her.

I remember going to visit some family friends a while back, late last Spring. This is the girl who was in my dream the other night. She�s got two children, a boy of about 3 or 4 and a girl of just almost a year now. I remember how that little girl, then only about three months old, if that, would cry and cry and cry whenever someone other than her mother held her.

And then I got to hold her, and the world seemed to fade away. I purred to her, resting her upon my chest and doing that Mom�s Pat (TM) as I rocked from side to side. I purred to her, whispering of her mother�s love, of how beautiful she was and how wonderful she was. And I held her. And she didn�t cry. Not only didn�t she cry, but she fell asleep. So safe, so warm, so trusting.

That�s what children symbolize to me. Trust. Innocence. Purity. That�s what children are. They are everything adults seem to grow out of. They haven�t been damaged. They haven�t been hurt. They haven�t been broken.

And I looked at that little girl, and I held her close, and I wanted to cry. Not for her, but for my half-sister�s children. A child... a sweet, pure, tender, trusting, innocent child... they deserve nothing but purity in return. They deserve love. And it hurts my heart so bad to think that someone who shares my blood, my half-sister, could choose drugs over her children.

Two little girls, perfect and whole and pure. Both of them wards of the State because Heather won�t give up the drugs. Not that she can�t. But she won�t. And when questioned about it by my father (Charlie) she said she made more money selling drugs than being a welfare mother.

That hurts so much. Someone who shares my blood choosing a needle, a rock, a flake of dust over purity, innocence and trust. choosing a dried leaf of grass over those perfect, delicate fingers. Choosing dust over life.

*shakes her head*

Perhaps I�m so wrapped up in the value of children because my own father seemed not to be. Perhaps I�m so wrapped up in the need to protect and respect children as the hope of our future, because my father didn�t seem to care. Still doesn�t seem to care. At all.

(no reply from that letter, by the way. It�s been two weeks now since I mailed it)

Perhaps I�m so wrapped up in the value of children because my mother has always been so heavily involved in my life and vice versa.

You know the show Gilmore Girls? That�s my mom and me. We have that special, tell each other anything kind of relationship. We�re friends. True and complete friends.

And, seeing that show proves to me that there is more than just ONE pair who has that special relationship. Someone else has that kind of relationship with their mother, because there�s a show based on it.

Yeah, okay, so I�m rambling and sounding extremely emotional. C�est la vie, non? Oui, mais ami.

It so angers me when someone doesn�t care. The biggest bone of contention between the ex and me... his lack of concern for his children. The biggest gribe about my father... his lack of concern for his children... any of them. You know, Charlie�s got four kids that he knows of... or at least, that he�s admited to. I haven�t asked him for more info in person... I might just have to do that sometime.

But he�s got two sons older than me. Myself. And my sister, Heather-the-druggie/pusher. *shakes her head* that just so totally disgusts me. Anyway, these four children... the two boys are brothers, same mother, same father. Then there�s me, then her. The boys don�t know anything about us. At all. AS far as I know anyway. I don�t know if Heather knows anything about the boys. I�ve certainly never heard Charlie talk about them. I�ve never talked about them to him.

Hell, this letter that I just wrote, might be his first indication that I know anything about his past life. *smiles softly* But I do know. And I want more information. And I want to know of my brothers left their wives and children. I want to know if they ever got married at all. I want to know if they care.

I want to know if they would be angry and furious and raging if they found out that a friend of theirs was raped. I want to know if they have character.

I just don't want to be like my brother Dan, whimpering and whining for the perfect "real" mother. I don't want to be expecting Knightly qualities only to find.... Well... I suppose that what I really want is to have two older brothers who are more like me than Heather.

Is that selfish?