The death of a child

I recently found out that the son of one of my colleagues died in a crash this weekend. Sad, sad, news. He was only 22.

I don’t think it matters how old your children are when they die – because they’re your children. They’re supposed to outlive you, and although we all know death is inevitable, we also expect it to come after a well fulfilled life, when we’re old and grey, and certainly not after our children. It’s supposed to come when we’ve seen our children do everything we wanted to see and as children, accomplish everything we set out to accomplish.

My grandmother buried three of her five children and I know that she hasn’t been the same since. Although they were all grown, they died within just a few years of each other and each death became harder for her to deal with. She has said it many times: a mother should never have to bury her child.

I know this is a very morbid subject and no one likes to talk about death, but tragic events such as this one makes me realize that every day I spend with Thomas, no matter how tired I am or how frustrated I get, having him in my life is a blessing. Tonight, give your child an extra long kiss before he or she goes to bed. Then call your parents and tell them you love them.

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