The frantic cries of a mother suffering a pain that should never have to be felt. The calls of the countless volunteers that comb the woods. The outpouring of grief and condolence, hope and faith and support. The desperate pleas on the 11 o'clock news. We just want our daughter back.
These are the things of nightmare. These are the forbidden and hushed thoughts of our deepest fears. These are the things that we hope so desperately will only ever be someone else's pain.
We do not try and think about the moments when that innocence and carefree childhood comes crashing to a sudden and often disastrous halt. We do not try and think what it must be like for the child that is taken, or stumbles off alone, to whatever horrors for them await. We only wish for their return and safety. We only wish for that happy ending, and we do our best to close our minds to the pain and suffering and the unknown.
Yet there sits that bicycle, or perhaps a shoe, or a dropped doll. There sits that last reminder of the child that we may, god forbid, never see again.
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