The body of a newborn baby was found yesterday. It was in the back garden of a house in a lower socioeconomic suburb, found when a woman went out to hang her washing on the line. There were immediate appeals for the mother to come forward, so she could get medical attention. Today there are appeals for people to help – to notice a woman who may have been large, but seems to have suddenly lost weight in the last few days. Wherever she is, I hope she is warm and safe. A southerly blast is coming through from the Antarctic, and it is mighty cold outside.
I don’t really feel anything. I mean, obviously I feel sad for the child. I feel sad for the mother who was, probably, terrified and alone, unable to think her way through to a solution. But terrible stories like this used to make me feel very upset; they used to evoke a yearning, making me want to go and adopt the child, and they used to make me feel so angry and frustrated that I couldn’t. Now, though, I know that’s not going to happen. I’m not in that space anymore. I don’t think I’m hard or uncaring or cold. I think I understand what I can and can’t do, and managing my emotions accordingly.