by Genevieve Short-Hamiwka
You robbed me of my children’s childhood just the way you robbed me of my own. Gone forever are the stinky diapers, singing in the back seat, trips to Disney, recitals, little league, piano lessons and the most hurtful of all; the tiny hands that would envelop my tired, but still admiring face. I want to scream, give them back!; but I know you won’t listen, you’re cruel that way. If you would have done it slowly, and given me a little more time with them, I would not detest you so, but you just whisked them off so quickly that I hardly noticed until it was too late. You say things like; you’ll always have the memories, but a snapshot cannot begin to replace the warmth of my babies’ embrace. You say, “Don’t fret, now that they’re older, you’ll make other memories,” but I know you, before long you will steal those away too.
Genevieve Short-Hamiwka enjoys a "healthy living" lifestyle with her family, including her dogs, Oreo (the cookie) and Bambi (the deer). One of Genevieve's many passions is writing - she's presently working on her first book about emotional healing.