Today I met up with Annette to do a quick walk - we had a bit of a meander around Tynemouth station, there is a small market that takes place on Saturdays and Sundays its full of bric a brac and bits and pieces, some of it nice, some of it nasty, but its generally a nice meander.
Dylan was given his obligatory pennies and he decided to buy something for Orla (Bless his little cotton socks) whilst paying the man for the green teddy bear I let go of Dylan's hand - for two seconds, or at least as long as it takes to take the money out of my purse, hand it over and thank the bloke - and bam, my son had gone.
I have to admit to panicking, I ran to Annette, "Dylan's gone", we both scanned the area in panic. No sign, I ran back to the stall, the bloke hadn't seen which way he had gone, he asked his friend on another stall - No sign.
I just kept shouting "He's two, small, blond, curls, blue eyes, he's wearing a bright orange jacket". No one had seen him. I spotted two police 'people' circling the stalls and ran to them "My baby is gone". The young woman office looked at me and in one second took in the total panic. "Its ok, what does he look like"....
"He's two, small, blond, curls, blue eyes, he's wearing a bright orange jacket".
"Is that him, over there". I turned to see my wayward wanderer happily perusing a box of toys. I ran to him, I grabbed him, I cried...
The police officer came over to me "Are you ok? I know exactly how you feel, Ive a little one about the same age... do you need a cup of tea?".
I know it sounds stupid, but I really did feel totally at a loss. In those few moments I had found his little body and buried him, had a nervous breakdown and plummeted into deep depression, ending up being eaten by cats and that would be my just deserts for being such a bad mother!!!!
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