Bunk Beds & Empty Tombs
PC: @piecesofbluee I finger combed his hair back and kissed his forehead goodnight. Tears welled up in his heavy eyes and pressed through his long lashes. His voice cracked, "I just wanted a normal childhood. I hate what I'm always afraid of." That night, I stood at his top bunk for an hour and a half. My gaze never broke. Each of those passing minutes, I recognized the confused, scared toddler wondering why his dad was so sick and couldn't play with him. This looming shadow of death had rolled back around all these years later. Every difference in our growing up was under spotlight. Everything I couldn't give him was underlined. I echoed the same crushing ache as I stared at him knowing full well that I, too, wanted something that looked entirely different than what we would open our eyes to in the morning. I couldn't help but wonder what this ever illusive "normal" actually was. We know just enough of it to want it. Yet, it brings nothing but res