by Cheryl O'Brien

Created on: August 29, 2008

The Accident

Laying on the trolley with family milling round
The footsteps of the nurses through my head they pound
I know that there is something that hasn't been said
I know before they say it. My little boy is dead.

Why are they all standing, without a single word
I know that all of them have already heard
Why don't they come and tell me I need to hear it said
Why won't they come and tell me. My little boy is dead.

Through a sea of faces, all that I can see
Is a balding man bearing a cross, coming up to me
Why leave it to a stranger to tell the news ahead
Why can't my family tell me. My little boy is dead

The words that fall around me are mingled in my tears.
The pain that wells inside me is blended with my tears
Why did it have to happen? Why wasn't it me instead?
What is there for a mother? When her little boy is dead.

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