Separation Anxiety

The little kid is wee me and the bigger guy is my big brother. The photo was taken on the lawn at the now razed Presbyterian Hospital in Denver in about 1948 or 1949.  My mother worked at the hospital as a switchboard operator back then, but today's blog relates to a different visit there and how it impacted my life forever.

I was about two years old when I was admitted Presbyterian Hospital to test for a heart murmur. Readers may be skeptical of my recollection, but it is real. I have seen it in my mind's eye for decades. It was nighttime. My parents came to visit me. I was held and comforted. Then they started to leave me. I begged them to take me with them.They left me alone.  I cried myself to sleep. I was a prisoner inside an iron crib.

Google is really something. Put in a word or phrase and you get to see things from your present or your past. The above photo shows a hospital crib like the one where I was held - except I was much smaller than the boy shown in the photo. I was trapped inside that iron crib. I could not escape. I was too young to reason.

In later years I was told I was in the hospital for testing.  I don't think I was there very many days. But it was an eternity to tiny me. While I do not have nightmares over the incident, I remember it to this day and feel again the sense of abandonment that the experience left me with. 

A few weeks ago I saw a Senator, or Congressman, or someone from the Trump Administration was on television discussing the "immigrant children" who have been separated from their parents who are being held in detention facilities. The man said something to the effect that these kids are better off than many American children because these kids have three meals a day and are in clean facilities.  He seemed to express a disdain for the children because they were being treated better than American children. Maybe they are, but I think not. I can never imagine a tiny child feeling good about being separated from his mother. And as big and tough as a 14 year old boy can be and as sassy at a 14 year old girl might be, I am confident many revert to children when their world is ripped apart no matter the cause. The press is now referring to some of these children as "orphans".  I bet that will happen to some. 

Who knows how these immigrant children who have been separated from their families by the American Government will feel about and maybe act toward or against the United States in the years ahead. Whatever they may feel or do, I am sure they won't forget it.