We just returned from the funeral of 2-year old Lucas, who was run over by a car three days ago.
Little Lucas was walking in the park with his mother, when a man accidentally hit him while reversing his car. After being admitted to emergency care, the little one succumbed to his injuries the next day.
There are flowers, candles and little toys at the exact location where the accident took place. In a small neighbourhood where most people seem to know each other, there is barely any other channel to express sorrow for what happened.
Lucas’ elder sister is in my son’s class at school. As parents of other children at the same school, a lot of us went to bid our last farewell to the little boy, whose toys and books lay there scattered, next to where he lay, peacefully.
There were many children there too, to support the grieving family with their drawings and little messages to Lucas. The place was full, with barely room for everyone. While some managed to fit inside the room where the testimonials took place, others stood outside in the rain, hiding their tears in the raindrops.
My heart broke into pieces at the sight of the bereaved parents who kept tiny smiles on their faces for the sake of their little daughters, who barely understood why they were even there with so many people gathered around.
Since I came back, my mind continues to spin into an endless abyss of thoughts that repeat themselves for no rhyme or reason. Why did he have to go? Do children ever go that way, leaving behind this painful vacuum that stays forever? What would his life have looked like, had this not happened?
There is no respite inside of me, so it’s useless to try to find it outside. Externally, things look very similar to what they looked at the same hour yesterday. There’s the sun, the birds that chirp and trees that whirl with the wind.
But something feels different. Internally, there’s endless turmoil and externally, a new, tiny star in the night sky.
Image taken from Google images
Akanksha Jalan 