“Hello, Kendall, it’s nice to meet you,” I said before turning back to Cora. “Sometimes,” I began, “after people get hurt they have a lot of different kinds of feelings. Scared, mad, confused. Are you feeling any of those things right now?” Cora remained still. “I imagine you may not feel a lot like talking, but I want you to know that when you are ready, I will be here to listen.

“In the meantime, I brought you a little present.” I reached into my oversize bag and pulled out an array of notebooks and a set of gel pens. “Sometimes the kids I work with find it easier to write or draw about how they are feeling. Do you see a notebook here that you like?”

Using her uninjured eye, Cora scanned the notebooks that I fanned out on the edge of her bed. I always offered a variety of notebooks for patients to choose from: one that looked like the cover was painted with pale pastel watercolors, a zebra-print, one with a picture of a polar bear and her cub on the front, and one with a plain blue cover. Kendall stood and joined me at the bedside.

“Oh, look, Cora,” she said as if talking to a much younger child. “There’s one with polar bears. You’d like that one, I bet.”

“What do you think, Cora?” I asked. “Is that the one you’d like?” Still no response. This wasn’t unusual. Children who experienced violent events were often unwilling, even unable, to express themselves at least initially. “How about this? I’ll leave all of them right here along with the pens and when you’re ready you can choose the one you’d like. You can write down whatever you’d like in the notebook and if you want, we can talk about it when I see you next. What do you think?” Cora nodded.

“Do you get to read what she writes down?” Kendall asked as if challenging me.

“Nope, it will be Cora’s private journal. No one is going to read what she’s written. I promise and I know that you will honor Cora’s privacy.” I looked to Mara and Kendall, who both bobbed their heads in agreement.

“Cora, the only way someone will read your journal is if you want them to.” I made a mental note to ensure that my next meeting with Cora included just the two of us. Older siblings often tried to speak for the younger brother or sister but if I was going to get a sense of what Cora was really feeling I was going to have to get her to speak for herself.

“Do you have anything you’d like me to know right now, Cora? Anything you’d like to tell me?” Though someone tried to clean her up, the smell of iodine and blood permeated what remained of Cora’s hair. Her breath was stale and coppery.