Outside the Gate

Sometimes,Sometimes, every choice is the wrong choice.

Should two small children be pulled out of danger when to do so would also place them in danger?

In a dark, cold basement apartment in Toronto, my brother and I slept and tried to keep warm. It was in the early morning hours, and the sun had not risen.

Shivering in the darkness, we opened the door to the old coal furnace and threw paper on the fire. Soon the basement filled with smoke, and the landlord came thundering down the stairs and pulled us outside.

The memories of my life began there, as the years before disappeared from my mind. I still know that one person played with me. One person held me when we huddled together in the night. One person heard my cries. My brother Freddie was that person.

That morning, child welfare workers appeared and took us away, and soon we were pulled apart. That began the separation from my brother. We did not hug each other goodbye, as we did not know we would be separated that morning.

Although we were separated, I did not forget him, and today, when I think of Freddie, my heart is sad. I have a shadowy picture in my mind of a little boy who comforted me in the night.

I visualize him walking away and slowly disappearing from me, waving back at me. It is how I imagine our goodbye, as I knew he would never have left me willingly, just as I hated to leave him. He disappeared in a fog of time. every choice is the wrong choice.

Should two small children be pulled out of danger when to do so would also place them in danger?

In a dark, cold basement apartment in Toronto, my brother and I slept and tried to keep warm. It was in the early morning hours, and the sun had not risen.

Shivering in the darkness, we opened the door to the old coal furnace and threw paper on the fire. Soon the basement filled with smoke, and the landlord came thundering down the stairs and pulled us outside.

The memories of my life began there, as the years before disappeared from my mind. I still know that one person played with me. One person held me when we huddled together in the night. One person heard my cries. My brother Freddie was that person.

That morning, child welfare workers appeared and took us away, and soon we were pulled apart. That began the separation from my brother. We did not hug each other goodbye, as we did not know we would be separated that morning.

Although we were separated, I did not forget him, and today, when I think of Freddie, my heart is sad. I have a shadowy picture in my mind of a little boy who comforted me in the night.

I visualize him walking away and slowly disappearing from me, waving back at me. It is how I imagine our goodbye, as I knew he would never have left me willingly, just as I hated to leave him. He disappeared in a fog of time.