I am in a busy airport and keep seeing my cousins going away from me. I say the first and second ones' names and then realize that they are here and avoiding me. I stop in my tracks. I feel deep sadness but I accept it as well.
There is a two year old boy. I love him. He is a delight, bright, loving, busy. I see him looking at the hot wheels table at a daycare, and looking at the car. I am terrified, because I know it is a bomb. He realizes it too. He starts to move away and I know it is too late. I am screaming run, run in my head, but I am not there. I am seeing it, in my head. Then there is a very clinical voice explaining the range of the bomb. He tried to get away and got 15 feet, but the range was 30 feet, and that he was pretty much vaporized. I am overwhelmed that this two year old would recognize a bomb and run and overwhelmed with grief and horror.
I wake up.
BQ 186