To Grief Lost

Nobody had, of course, intended for it to happen. That is why such a thing is called an accident. It was a small boat, the waters of the bay turned unaccountably rough and Stephen was gone before his father could do aught to help him. 

Matters were not improved a whit when his mother, understandably forlorn, took far more of the medication than the doctor had prescribed and never awoke. For her, it was less an accident than the only viable resolution to the pain in her soul that only a mother can feel for the loss of her child. 



This story was written for the weekly Tuesday Tales prompt: forlorn