“Do you ever get sad sometimes? But you don’t know why?”
He could picture the child, standing in the doorway, dragging a blanket in one hand, the other holding a teddy bear in the crook of his elbow, fingers in mouth.
‘Yes,’ a shivered whisper. He was always cold, nothing helped.
“I get sad a lot, but I couldn’t tell you why. Sometimes it’s because momma didn’t hug me goodnight, or because the shadows on the walls wouldn’t go away when I told them to.” A five year-old should not speak so coherently. “Or sometimes, the shadows moved, that was the worst because momma always told me I was full of shit.”
‘Please, I can’t do this, not now,’ he whimpers, not fully formed words, more sounds thrown together in an attempt to express this overwhelming fear he felt.
“You’re the only one who can understand, you can help me, won’t you?” his voice wavers just enough to signal tears. “Please, please help me mister.”
How do you help something that already beyond saving?
– Gagandeep Kaur