When I heard about Lane Graves, the toddler killed by an alligator at Disney, I almost threw up.
My son is 23-months old, roughly the same age as Lane. I have a picture of him hugging a teddy bear he got for Christmas. His face is beaming as he holds it tight, both arms wrapped around the bear, pressing every inch of it against his little body in a moment of pure love and enjoyment. The image of my son with his teddy bear seared into my mind as I read of Lane’s fate.
Then I entered a very dark place.
I wondered what was going through Lane’s mind as the alligator grabbed him. How confused and scared he must have been as it dragged him underwater, wanting only his mother or father. Wondering where they were, not knowing what was happening. Knowing only terror. And pain.
That’s when I started crying.