Recently in the news there was a story that shocked the nation, of a 2 year old boy pulled into the water and killed by an alligator near a Walt Disney World hotel, in front of his parents.

News reports suggest that the child was on the edge of the lagoon, when the alligator attacked.

The boy’s family was at a movie night outdoors at the Grand Floridian resort when around 9 p.m. the boy waded into about a foot of water in a lagoon, authorities have said. Witnesses, including the boy’s horrified parents, tried to save him. His father jumped in and tried to pry the gator’s mouth open. His mother jumped in, too.

Just think of that scene for a moment will you.

It is the thing that nightmare’s are made of.

The parents of this little boy have to live the rest of their lives, with this image permanently implanted in their minds. Every time they close their eyes they will relive this tragedy over and over again.

So why is this not enough. Why can’t we stand united and mourn alongside the parents of this little boy taken too soon, in the most accidental of circumstances?

Why does this still anger us so? Why, as a society, do we immediately look to the parents to place blame?

When tragedy strikes, why do we need someone to hold accountable in order to justify our emotions, justify our sense of loss, or in order to justify the event?

It seems the more we attempt to make sense of it all through placing blame, the more it fuels our grief into anger, into hate, into intolerance.

When a little boy climbed into the gorilla enclosure, why did the public automatically go on witch hunt for the parents?

When tragedy strikes, we as a society can’t seem to accept the fact that accidents do happen. Horrible, unfathomable, accidents. We attempt to interpret the events, by dwelling on the fact that these circumstances could have been prevented. That the parents had a duty of care over those children, that they should have been more responsible.

Should have taken more care. Should have been more responsible.

I’m sure these are the very thoughts that plague these children’s parents every second of every day. I’m almost positive that they would be replaying those crucial moments leading up to the events that would forever change their lives, by reliving what they should have done.

Although no matter how much we place blame in order to bring justice to that little boy, or to that beautiful gorilla, it doesn’t change history. It won’t bring them back.

I think we as a society like to blame and shame the parents of these children, by saying things like “This would never happen to my child.”, “Where were the parents?”, “They should have been looking after their kids!”, because quite frankly we are terrified.

We as parents are terrified that this horrible event could happen to us. The thought of placing ourselves in these parents shoes is frankly too much for us to deal with on an emotional level. So instead, we distance ourselves from the event by vilifying the parents and saying “This would never happen to me.”

We remove ourselves from the tragedy, out of harms way, by projecting blame.

“We are not like THOSE parents, therefore something like this could never happen to us. We are safe, our children are safe, there is nothing to worry about. Let’s continue to live in our bubble.”

Heard of fight or flight? Our placing fault on those parents, trigger that theory in all of us.

Truth of the matter is that we are all panic stricken.

Life with children is petrifying, because subconsciously we are all aware that accidents do in fact happen, and our safe and cosy little lives can change in an instant.

Life is fragile and the thought of losing something that we would give our lives for, terrifies us.

It sure as hell terrifies me.

It terrified those parents when they jumped into alligator infested waters to save their two year old son, to no avail.

I myself have a two year old son. I read that article and as soon as it came out the first thing I thought to myself was “Where were the parents! I would never let this happen to my son!”

Then I began to challenge why I thought this way. Why couldn’t I just be sad along side the parents? Why did I have to “protect” the little boy, by resenting his mum and dad?

I realised it was because the mere thought of anything like this ever happening to me, to my son, rocked my very core.

I didn’t want to place myself in their shoes, I didn’t want to personalise it. It was too scary.

When I bathed my two year old son that night, while laying out his teeny tiny little Thomas the Tank Engine pyjamas, I thought of that little boy’s parents.

I thought of them, arriving home to an empty house. I thought of them unpacking. I thought of them sitting in his vacant room, just to feel close to him. Taking their son’s teeny tiny little pyjamas out of their suitcase, knowing he would never wear them again. I thought of them, bringing his little shirt to their noses, trying to smell his scent, trying to bring him back, sobbing into the fabric.

As I was dressing my son for bed, I thought of them, having to choose a teeny tiny forever outfit, for when they layed their son to rest. The son that they watched die.

Once I challenged why I felt resentment toward the parents after the event, I thought of them differently.

I realised that my fear triggered a fight or flight reaction and I was merely projecting my own panic, onto them.

I no longer wanted to place blame. It was fruitless. I mourned along with them.

It was a tragedy. An accident.

An event that could happen to any parent.

Scary though isn’t it.

When tragedy strikes, we as a society can’t seem to accept the fact that accidents do happen. Horrible, unfathomable, accidents. We attempt to interpret the events, by dwelling on the fact that these circumstances could have been prevented. That the parents had a duty of care over those children, that they should have been more responsible.

Let’s try something new. Let’s try to be more tolerant of each other when tragedy strikes, and see how much the world can change, just by challenging the way we think.