As the raindrops fall harder and harder, I realize I can no longer tell if my face is wet from tears or from the downpour. I search around, desperately looking for a street sign, a familiar face, anything to tell me where I am. Everything is a blur and the whole world seems to be tilted. I may fall right off the edge.
Would anybody even notice?
Would anybody even care?
I’m standing in a crowd of people. They’re all in a rush to get back to their busy lives. I’ve stopped walking so they flood around me, leaving a bubble of space, like I’m a rock in a stream. To them, I’m a minor inconvenience, but that’s all.
The buildings loom over me. Their shadows drowning and their bodies confining me. Everywhere I turn, there’s a skyscraper blocking my way. There’s no where I can go.
I would give anything to go home right now, but I don’t even know where home is.
If you have no one left to call family, do you really have a home?
If there’s nobody to miss you, do you even really matter?
As these thoughts run laps through my mind, my head is pounding. I fall to my knees. I can’t breathe.
I hear voices around me, but all I can make out is a buzzing sound. I see a hand on my shoulder, but I’m too numb to feel it.
My fist’s clenched so tight that my knuckles are white and my fingernails are digging into my palm.

I can’t feel anything.

“Are you okay?”

I hear a woman speaking, but it’s like we’re underwater. I open my mouth to respond but my throat constricts and all I can make is a small squeak.

Her brown eyes are wide with concern and her dark hair is soaked in the rain. She has a small child standing behind her, his hand on the edge of her coat. He’s holding onto her like she’s the only thing in the world that can keep him anchored.

He reminds me of a little girl with blond ringlets---
“Hey, it’s going to be alright. Is there someone I can call for you?”
Her voice is so gentle, so caring. It reminds me so much of what I’ve lost that I choke a little on my own tears.
“No---no one,” I manage to spit out. My arms are pulling my knees to my chest now. My groceries are scattered on the pavement.

“Look, you really should move off of the sidewalk, someone might step on you. Let me help you.”
She gently puts her hand on my arm, detaching it from my leg, before pulling me to my feet. I haven’t eaten in days and I can barely keep my balance. She places my arm across her shoulders and leads me across the way to a little coffee shop. There’s a couch inside and she sets me down.
My clothes are dripping and I’m shivering from the cold.

“Is there something I can do to help you?” the woman asks.
The child is eying the glass case with all the pastries inside. He’s so innocent, so trusting. I would give anything to be like that again.

But it’s too late now.
Innocence is something that was stolen from me a lifetime ago.

“I don’t---I don’t think so---”

Between my tears and my chattering teeth, I struggle to speak.

I want to thank this kind woman for her concern. I want to tell her to take her little boy home, and to remind him everyday that she loves him. I want to tell her that it’s too late for me, but not for him.

All I say is, “Please, go.”
I see a flash of hurt in her eyes. She probably thinks that I’m an ungrateful brat. I wouldn’t blame her.
“If I leave,” she starts, “will you be able to get home okay?”
My breath catches in my throat and the tears start streaming down my cheeks again.
“Yeah,” I mutter. My hands are shaking in my lap and I can’t make eye contact with her.

She nods slowly and stands up.
“It’s going to get better,” she whispers. “I promise.”
Then, she grabs her child by the hand and leads him out of the coffee shop. Right before she goes out the door, she looks at me one last time. It’s the kind of look to give to a stranger that you’re concerned for.
I begin to sob again.
I thought that family was forever.
That nothing could change that.
I went to see the house yesterday.
I left without a word.
Not a single word.
They were all I had.
Now the only time I’ll get to see them in photographs.
I shut my eyes and take a deep breath. I can’t go home, but I can’t stay here.
I stand up, slowly and shakily, and walk out the door. I have no where to go so I just wander over to the park.
There’s a tree there, where I used to take her to play when she was little. I sit under it, too tired to sleep and too sad to cry any more. I’ll just sit here for a while. Maybe tomorrow it’ll be better. Maybe not. Maybe there will be good news tomorrow. Maybe not.

I hope that woman tells her little boy how much she loves him. I hope she makes absolutely sure he knows.

Because you never know when it’s too late to ask.