I saw my little son dead on a beach today.
I saw him lying there.
Aren’t those the shorts I bought him back in June?
I saw my little boys face in the water. His little body looked so cold.
My body heaved. My chest hurt. My eyes felt raw agonizing pain.
I cried so many times today.
My little boy. Dead. In the sand.
He’s right here beside me. Being so noisy.
He’s having a tantrum and screaming so loud because his brother took his toy.
He’s been awake since 6.50am, won’t nap and has me exhausted.
He’s over tired and grumpy and I could do with a break.
He spilled a full carton of orange juice at lunch. Sticky floors. Mess.
I’ll be up half the night with him I suppose. He’s not a great sleeper this week and it’s so hard to function on so little rest.
I’ll mop my floors. I’ll teach him to share. And I’ll send us both off for an early night.
I’ll feel better tomorrow.
My world will be better tomorrow.
My world is a paradise today.
And yet it looked so like him.
On that beach.
That picture, it could have been him.
It felt wrong to close my eyes.
I am blessed.
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