I want my daughter back

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SHe would have been seven this Christmas. That's a good age for lots of fun.

Cookie baking, snowflake making, tree trimming, story telling....

Look, you took my health. You took my employability. You took my dignity. You took my independence. You took my mobility. Did you have to take her, too?

How do I continue to survive, year after year, with no family, no future?

Why did you take her, too?

Count to 14

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Fourteen seconds. Count.

There. Another person is infected with AIDS.

Count another fourteen seconds. There. Another person is infected with AIDS.

Did you have a hard day?

I did. I'm emotionally exhausted, from telling a new friend, Stu, a little of my experience with homelessness and with losing my daughter, all the while being socially ostricized.

I'm physically exhausted from trying to do too much work outside, too fast, while the weather holds out.

I'm in a lot of pain.

But I am not an infant child, dying of AIDS, orphaned because BOTH my parents, and most of my siblings, died of AIDS, too.

I am not a raped woman in India, whose husband gave her the virus and then threw her out when she showed symptoms.

I am not dying of AIDS, alone, socially ostricised, hungry, homeless and helpless.

Count to fourteen. There. Another person is infected with AIDS. Every fourteen seconds.

Now, go here and donate one little dollar: 46664. That's Nelson Mandela's prisoner number.

You think you had a hard day?

DO IT!

Thank you,

Rogi A. Riverstone