Today, I was laying Samantha down for her afternoon nap, when I heard an unholy screaming from the bathroom. Quickly, I put her down and ran to see why my son was losing his mind.
He was sitting there over the toilet he had just flushed, crying as though he'd broken an arm or something.
"My car, Mommy. My car," he sobbed.
Apparently, he had dropped the car in the toilet by accident, and flushed before he thought to get it out.
I held him as I explained that I couldn't get it back, even if I tried. His beloved Hot Wheels was gone forever. His tears soaked my shirt, but I just rocked his little half-naked body, trying to find words of comfort. He has dealt with things being broken. He has dealt with choosing to get rid of things. He has even dealt with having something taken away from him.
Never before has something he so loved been torn away from him accidentally and suddenly. Yes, it was only a toy car, but to him, it's a big deal.
As his hiccuping tears drew to a close, he murmured, "I'm sorry, Mommy. I'm so, so sorry. It's all my fault."
My heart broke again, and I grasped for words to explain that accidents happen, and they aren't anyone's fault. They just happen and they suck, and sometimes, they can't be fixed.
His sad little silver-blue eyes stared into mine, tear-filled and red-rimmed, as I tried to explain a concept that I have trouble dealing with, even now. Sometimes things are gone, suddenly, without rhyme or reason. And you can't fix it.
We snuggled there for some time, wishing the world were different.
And then we dried our tears and went to play trains. Because the world moves on.