Today is September 1st.
My son would’ve been three years old this month. And in some ways, it’s even more painful than the previous two years.
I sometimes find myself thinking, "I would betray my husband again and again if it would give us back what we lost."
How completely illogical is that?
So instead, I lay on my couch and cry. And when it becomes too much, I scroll social media in an attempt to dull the grief. It doesn’t really work.
I think about the stroller I almost bought. The first day of kindergarten I’ll never get to see. What he would’ve been like. How much his siblings would’ve loved him.
Then I look at my daughter and think, "You shouldn’t be here. You are not the right one."
And I wonder what mother thinks that.
I love our daughter. I love her deeply. But it’s almost painful to look at her right now.
Then I become angry.
I hate when a betrayed spouse says an unfaithful spouse can never understand the pain they’re going through. I think it’s stupid.
No, we won’t feel it in the exact same way you do. But we understand what pain is.
Pretty crappy week for the therapist to be out of town.
And then… nothing.
It’s a faucet I can turn off. A blessing and a curse.
Compartmentalization is a real bitch.
I suppose this is simply a cry into the void.
I don’t really have a point. I just miss my son.
I need a place where he can exist outside my own heart.
I’m really afraid he’ll be forgotten.
