The Tale of the Sandboxes

We spent our first days at Aaron's institution in a bit of a daze.  We wandered around the grounds following the whims of a child who had never before had the freedom to explore wherever he pleased.  He took advantage of his new freedom every chance he got throughout out time there, through 65 exhausting visits. One of the things he wanted to check out was a large sand pile across from the shed where he spent his days.  He wanted to load his favorite dump truck with sand. We thought the pile was a makeshift sandbox for the boys, so we let him play there. 

Aaron was in his glory.  He dug to his little heart's delight. We, on the other hand, found the situation slightly less glorious. We were uncomfortable in the sand pile because it was situated right in the middle of two groups of older boys. We were forced to watch those boys act out behavior that burns deep in our memories to this day. This was Aaron's world, and it was not pretty. But we didn't want to disrupt Aaron's fun, so we stayed. Only one boy ever joined us in the sand pile, a sweet, gentle older boy who didn't belong in all of that chaos.

Three times we played in that sand pile. Three times we dug our hands into that sand, carving out roads and building mountains. We were oblivious. We thought it was play sand. 

The third time we played in the sand pile, I made a sickening discovery: someone was using this sand pile for something other than play. I dug into the sand and uncovered a pile of human feces covered with maggots. My stomach lurched as I quickly covered up my discovery and stood up. Aaron and Elijah were both sitting next to me, contently digging in that filthy sand pile.

I didn't freak out, although I thought about it. We were living in a world in which we had to be extremely careful not to offend anyone. Our sweet friend was playing with us that day, and Aaron was happily sharing his truck with him. So instead of dragging Aaron and Elijah out of there and running for cover (which is what I would have done at home), I moved them to the other side of the tree.  The sand was thinner over there, so I hoped it was a spot less likely to be chosen as a toilet. As we left I had the misfortune to turn around and see one of the older boys walk over to where we had just been sitting, drop his pants and pee right into the sand pile. I was almost sick to my stomach. 

It was the last time we played in that sand pile. Now we don't think it was there for the boys at all; we think it was probably there for the maintenance men to use when they mixed their thin concrete.

Fast foward to a year later...

Two weeks ago we bought Aaron a little pool, which we placed by the old slide Rob built for the older boys when they were little.  Under the slide was a disused, weed-filled sandbox.  On Saturday I cleaned out the sandbox, and Rob refilled it with leftover sand from one of his jobs.  Aaron was in his glory!  A real, honest-to-goodness sandbox complete with seats!  I felt like weeping as I watched him.  The memories of the sand pile across the ocean washed over me as I watched Aaron happily building houses for everyone in the family-- in a sandbox filled with nice, clean sand, placed there by loving hands and a loving family. 

My heart aches deep within me for those Lost Boys across the ocean.  Boys who will never have the pleasure of digging to their heart's delight.  Boys who don't have buckets and shovels and castle molds.  Boys who don't have little backhoes and cars to drive on the roads they create.  Boys who don't have little pools to in which to splash and play.  Boys who have only hot, empty sheds and long days filled with Nothing.

It has been almost a year since we first crossed that ocean.  It has been almost a year since we walked the roads of that faraway village.  You would think that we would be able to forget what we witnessed.  You would think that we would be able to cast aside those sad memories and move on with our life and our little son.  We can't.  Those memories continue to haunt us, and we continue to grieve those boys' condition. They have Nothing, not even a pile of clean sand to call their own.

And that is one of the many reasons why we cannot turn our backs on the Lost Boys. 

One of many....

...to be continued.