Once upon a time there was a woman.
She was pregnant and she carried her baby heroically, while languishing...
and then she died.
She named the baby Mariam Namulinde.
The baby was tiny.
The woman had died a tragic and contagious death
and everyone wondered if her baby was doomed.
Nearby, the baby's grandmother - the baby's only kin - was sick, too...
and then she died, too.
Mariam Namulinde was alone
in the world.
The 34 day-old whimpering, starving baby
The baby cried for two days.
She was noisy and insistent as she demanded the world take note of her survival.
The people nearby,
tired of trying to ignoring the mewling they had assumed would end by now...
scooped her up,
incised the house fly which had buried itself under her scalp while she laid for
two lost days
hungry and angry on her back
soiled and drenched in a filthy tablecloth,
and conveyed her to the Authorities.
The Authorities found more Authorites.
And eventually those Authorities found some Americans.
And those Americans found us: some random Parents.
And we found the baby,
and named her
Amaris and Namulinde
and brought her home
and loved her
and fed her
and kissed her
and watched her heal
and promised her she need never be alone again
the two lost days are lost forever.
There is no replacing the two days.
And there is no replacing the mother who died.
Replacing is only putting something new in the place of something old.
It is just another placing.
I don't want to see the two lost days replaced.
I want to see them Redeemed.
REDEEMED is to
The two lost days can never be replaced.
What they CAN be is