Other People's Sons

My son was home for a visit.  It was Reading Week, a week off from his studies.  But with exams looming ahead of him, he spent most of the time with his nose in his books barely coming up for meals.  Still. . . it was very nice to have him home.

Sunday, we drove him to the train station.  I gave him a hug and kiss good-bye then turned and left him standing there, loaded down with a backpack full of books as he waited on his train.

It was later that day we heard the news.  A VIA Rail passenger train has derailed in Ontario.  At least three people dead.  Many more wounded.


I felt sick. A moment of panic.

And then the news story continued, "...an Eastbound train on route to Toronto."  


Relief.

My son was heading West.  It wasn't his train.  My son is fine.  What a rush of relief!

And then guilt.

I know that train would have been full of other young people heading back to university after a visit home, other students with backpacks full of books, other people's sons.