When Husband got home from work last night, he asked if I had seen or heard news reports of the Syrian toddler boy found on the Turkish shoreline. I had not so Husband gave me brief details and warned not to go looking for more. Unfortunately, I couldn’t open a browser window without seeing his unforgettable picture.
I’ll never forget his red shirt, blue shorts, and black shoes. I can’t get the image of his little body face down at the water’s edge out of my mind. When I saw the picture, I didn’t have to ask Husband if it was the one. I already knew.
I immediately started crying. Even now, in the early morning hours of a new day, I’m still crying.
I’m crying for the little boy who lived a too short life filled with more pain and anguish than I will ever know. I’m crying for the boy’s mother and older brother who also perished. I’m crying for the father who is grieving the death of his wife and two young children.
I admit my tears are selfish. I didn’t sleep well last night. Husband doesn’t know that I held his hand for a while as he slept or that I watched Kamden on the monitor just to see his chest rise and fall with each breath. I am grateful for my family every day, but events like this remind me that every minute is precious.
I’m crying because I’m angry – I see a problem and I don’t know how to fix it.
I’m crying because I’m frustrated with people who lack compassion and make poor decisions.
I’m crying because I don’t understand why bad things happen – loved ones are diagnosed with cancer, babies are born prematurely, earthquakes hit, couples battle infertility, wars rage, and a toddler washes up on the shore of a beach resort.
I’m crying because I’m scared of the world in which to raise my son – violence against a person for the color of their skin, ethnicity, religious views, or because they’re wearing a badge and uniform; inappropriate relations between educators and students; access to drugs and alcohol; bullying; celebrity influence; and the worship of idols instead of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior.
Aylan, sweet boy, I am so sorry for the pain you endured on earth but I know you are nestled warm and tight in the arms of Jesus. Now, go rest high on that mountain that is He!