Cry Out

I do not know how to write this.  The hurt is too deep, the memory almost still too raw.  I was pregnant, miserable, emotional and it was just our first month in India.  We were both on the bike, me sitting side saddle on the back stuck in a jam hanging onto Chad.

The wailing was loud and horrible.  The kind that comes from animal like recesses in the deep of our soul and wrench out at octaves that stop traffic.  There was blood, there was a woman rocking back and forth, there was bikes all around.  The pain was so raw the hurt so real that it shattered everything around except people kept walking, kept moving.  Chad kept driving.  I begged him turn around and go back.  Maybe we could help, maybe an accident had happened, maybe I could do some first aid.

What I did not know was that this woman was sitting outside a police station.  Chad knew.  He went to find out what happened.  Men were yelling, I saw the police, the woman gasping for breath.

A little girl was dead.  A mother broken. A father guilty.

I never saw it in the paper never knew if the father faced justice. This story is in the paper now, Baby Afreen.  It is hard, it is real, it is wrong.

There is an abortion every 30 seconds.  There is over Three Thousand abortions per day.  Girls are dying, Babies are dying.

Cry Out!