Lay your hands on them, feel the pulse of the Universe. The child lives there still and awaits your touch. Eighty, Ninety, One Hundred or so. A body worn by life here on planet Earth. Skin wrinkled and cellophane thin.
Every bump makes a bruise.
Still full of life, full of hope, full of Life Force energy. Most likely not. You can feel it. The child is there still and aches for your touch. Step past your revulsion, your uncertainty, your fear.