My heart is aching. I feel like I could vomit. And tears have been welling up in my eyes.
Last night a young boy was killed by a wild animal in a place that was meant to have a lifetime of wonderful memories. But in the upcoming days a family has to return home from vacation with a body and prepare for a funeral. It fucking sucks.
I can’t even imagine the pain, guilt and desperation that family is going through and will continue to deal with forever. All I know is that it makes me want to hug my child close and never let him go.
I can’t even really explain how much this pains me. I’m lying in bed thinking about how I have to eventually teach Colt what to do if he’s lost. That I have to teach him that adults are there to help, but that he also needs to be aware of strangers. And then I shake the thoughts out of my mind because I don’t want to rush this. He’s my baby.
I think about how independent he is, and how proud I am of that. He’s content playing on his own occasionally. And then I worry about when he’s older. Will I feel secure enough to let him be on his own? Will I let him ride his bike down the street? Around the block? To the park?
I think about all of the exciting places that I want to travel with him to; Yellowstone, The Smithsonian, The Empire State Building, The Grand Canyon. But now these places seem terrifying. What if there’s an accident? An emergency? A fucking terrorist attack? I have to remind myself that life continues. That there are far more great days than bad. And common sense and awareness can get you through most of it pretty safe.
I have inherited the exhaustive worrying every mother gets. How I cope with it will be how Colt remembers me. Until then I’m going to not miss a single moment where I can steal a hug, kiss the top of his head, or tell him I love him.