Yesterday, I went to a funeral for a very little baby, only 28 weeks old in life, who never really had a fighting chance in life. As that Gosnell trial continues in Philadelphia, it makes me so angry that life is devalued like that. And that no one cared, really. Those mothers failed their children, and perhaps society failed them. The doctor failed. They never tried to keep those children alive, and they never sought options like adoption or family support. They resorted to a finite option that was really just one act in someone's horror show.
April is a wonderful month, for the most part, with warmer temperatures and flowers and trees blooming. Only too much pollen keeps it from perfection, right? But mornings like yesterday, on a sunny day nearly 80 degrees, there is still such loss. And a bit of winter in springtime. There was something very comforting about the priest's words, as he spoke not of angels, but of saints. Of eternal happiness in heaven as a saint at the right hand of God. As a soul that we can pray to, who was never scorched by the sins of earth. And that is not exactly a blessing, I guess. It is still a tragedy. I hope those babies also receive a bit of sainthood, wherever they are. And they are mourned as baby C was.
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