**trigger warning: family death**
I'm going to try to get through this as quickly as possible. Long story short, my parents were missionaries to Russia. We were there for about a year when my mum got pregnant. We (parents, brother, and I) came back to the States for her to have the baby. A few weeks later we went back. And 10 days before his first birthday, my mother called my father and was understandably freaking out when she couldn't find him after she had put him in his crib for a nap while the interpreter was there for her Russian lesson. We were walking back from the market and my brother and I were dispatched to look around the base of the building (our flat was 5 floors up). I remember it so clearly, I went around the left side of the building to where the clearing of trees was, tall grass all around and the sun shone as if it were guiding me to where he was lying. He looked like he was sleeping. No blood, just his perfect, angelic face so peaceful looking. I just froze for a minute then ran to get my father. He picked him up and he was as limp as a rag doll. I remember him crying as he carried him up the 5 flights of stairs and I cried even though I couldn't quite process what was happening, I think it was shock. My mum was on the phone with the English clinic. They were walking her through cpr and she couldn't bear to be by his body so she repeated the instructions to my father who had placed his lifeless son on their bed. I just watched in horror unable to do anything. Next the EMTs came and