My daughter.  My beautiful, beautiful daughter, is resting now.

She looks so vunerable, lying in that hospital bed.  So pale.  So weak.

But she's ALIVE. 

What would drive a 15 year old girl to the edge, make her want to kill herself?

I don't think I'll ever forget the sight of her lying in all that blood --

Alaska.  My little girl's name.

I was in Alaska when I found out I was pregnant.  It is a beautiful state.  I wanted to remember it, so I named her Alaska Dawn.

Even though she has a disability, she is beautiful to me.  Always has been.

She has AMC, or Arthrogryposis Multiplex Conginita.  It's a disorder that causes joint contractures and muscle weakness.  She has the amyoplasic form.  Her hands, wrists, elbows, shoulders, hips, knees and feet are affected. 

She was born with it.  No one knows why.

Her upper body is more affected.  She is very limited to what she can do.  She can't bend her elbows or wrists.  They are flexed in a slight curve, but as for movement, there is little.

She has had to find different ways to do things.  Write.  Eat.  Dress.  She undergoes physical therapy twice a week to preserve what muscles she has.

Most of the time, I am her hands.  At school, she has a caretaker who helps her.

AMC doesn't affect her mental ability.  Alaska is very intelligent.  She pulls a 4.0 G.P.A.

But there are those who think that since her body is disabled, her mind is, too.  They trip her in the hallway at school.  Having limited arm movement, there is nothing to stop her fall.

She has had many trips to the E.R. to fix broken bones in her face.  For concussions.  For stitches.

They push.  They shove.  They say horrible things to her.  And lately, they have been sending her text messages.  'Die, bitch.'  'You're ugly.'  'You don't deserve to live.'

She didn't want me to know, but I knew something was bothering her.  I could see it in her eyes.  I could tell it in her mood.

So, she took matters into her own disabled hands.  She punched a window pane in her room and then ran her wrists over the jagged edges.  The cuts were deep.

Thank God, the medics got here fast.  Thank God, the surgeons were able to save her life. 

I found the note she had written:

'Dear Mom,

'I love you.  I'm sorry.  I don't want to live.  Please forgive me for being born this way.  I can't take it anymore.  I am ugly.  I'm not your beautiful

Alaska Dawn.'
 

~ to be continued ~