From our house, I can hear the sound of a train. There are times I consider this a pleasant sound. However, late at night, when I am the only one awake, that sound leads me to thinking about sad things. Very sad things.
In the dark, the whistle of the train almost always leads to thoughts of missing children. I imagine them being taken very far away by someone they do not know. I imagine the fear they must feel and the sheer terror the parents face when they discover their child is gone.
Our children are so vulnerable and so accessible. And this crime, this horror continues to happen all around us and often with terrifying results. It breaks my heart.
I have taught McKade, and will soon teach Rogan, that if he is ever approached by a stranger to yell, “NO…Get away from me”, at the top of his lungs. But how sad is it really that we need to teach our children there are monsters out there who will prey on our youngest and most defenseless?
The other morning McKade woke up and wandered into our room. He asked where Rogan was, thinking that he was cuddling in our bed. But he wasn’t, and of course I knew that he had simply not woken up yet and was still in his little bed. But for a split second when Mack asked about his brother, a terrible thought crept into my head.
What if someone broke in and stole my baby from his bed? I decided to check on Rogan, and I knew as I approached that as long as his door was still closed that everything would be fine. The door was closed and he was fine.
But damn it, for a moment, I feared the absolute worst.
My thoughts and prayers go out to those who have suffered the loss of a child.