Full of frantic excitement we entered the hospital on the wrong wing and in a delayed rush circled our way to the dark and silent maturity ward. 'This is not visitor time.' 'Oh no, see there's a baby. I don't know her name. Um, I'm a foster mom. We are foster parents. Well not really yet I guess. I mean, the baby, I mean she will be our first. Oh sorry. Um, here's the paper the social worker gave us. Here's my driver's license. Can you help us?' Walking into the dark room there she laid. She was incredibly tiny, nestled in blankets and a beanie. The babies in the at-risk hospital we visited flashed forward to my frontal memory. They were so alone. Then she was so alone. There she was so alone in such a suddenly too large space for a tiny child to be alone in. I was afraid to touch her. I began opening and closing all the drawers in the room. A frantic search for evidence of the explanation that left this child so very alone.
Looking under the crib, on the table, under blankets. I was searching, just searching for information of who she was and how she came to be here. A piece of paper fluttered from the side table next to the crib and fell to the ground. 'Hailey Elle ' 'Hailey Elle?' 'Her name is Hailey Elle.'