A Brief Reminder ...

My articles on here can be a bit verbose.  This site, which perhaps initially began as an outlet for the outpouring of grief has evolved more to an expose of an industry which is largely unregulated and is beset with many issues and herculean problems.

But that cannot deter from the reality that each day the heartache, the unspeakable tragedy and the overwhelming grief that grips the soul of our very existence is foisted upon parents as life is cruelly ripped from their beloved children by “the Demon.”

This past week, as I read in a closed group about another child taken by this damnable disease, I was lead to an article written in 1997.  A mother's powerful words abruptly stopped me. As I read the first paragraph to a dear friend, I began to feel a surge of undefinable, uncontrolled emotion.  I only made it through 5 words in the second paragraph before I choked up, my throat closed to any words as tears streamed forth.

"It was such an unrelenting nightmare. Not only was I terrified that my daughter was losing her life, but I was convinced I was the cause of her torment. Everywhere I went, I felt and accepted the stigma. The public knew that someone had to be blamed--the parent, the child, or both. I was overcome by the numbness of hopelessness. How could my child be dying in front of me? I knew I had to do something, but I did not know where to begin. The information I was getting made no sense. So little of it seemed to apply to K. Certainly, I would not accept that my daughter's anorexia was incurable. On occasion I glimpsed an idea that felt right, but essentially I felt terribly, terribly alone, left to stumble along an unfamiliar road in a strange country, whose signs were in a language I could not understand."

"One morning at 4:00 A.M., I was writing in my journal, sitting on the cold bathroom floor, when I heard [my daughter] creep into the kitchen. When I followed her, she had disappeared. Then I heard a sound. I found her under the table, eating dog food out of a dog dish. We had no dog.

I did not know where the dish or the dog food had come from. She was on all fours, weeping, as she crouched down to eat. I went over to her and held her and begged, "Don't do this, darling. You don't need to do this. We will figure this out."

She just sobbed in my arms and held on. "I don't know why I do this. I'm so bad."

"Honey, why are you so bad?" I asked.

"You don't understand. I just am."

"What have you ever done that's so bad? You've been such a good girl all your life--a wonderful child."

"I don't know the answer," she replied, "but I know it's in my head all the time."

People ... that is the reality of the disease. Those are the stories that only parents, loved ones and those who suffer know, and try to survive. These are the stories of life and death. And those stories, this struggle, this reality is the reason why we must demand excellence from the medical providers, research scientists and those on the front lines.

We must save lives … one precious life at a time.