It's been six months since my baby boy was called home. He passed away early one Sunday afternoon and my husband and I slept in the living room that night, not ready to face the room we shared with him. I screamed and cried all night, with gut wrenching pain. Since then I try very hard to keep composure. I have four other kids who need me to stay strong. I have a life that I must keep living, even though everyday since he left all I've wanted to is join him.
"It'll get better with time." Everyone likes to remind me. But as the eleventh day of the month comes and goes for the sixth time, I wonder when... when will it get better? When I celebrate Mother's Day tomorrow, knowing one of my children will never get to make me hand print cards? Or my birthday, that's approaching, where I won't get to hear his toddler voice wish me a good day?
Some wounds time can't heal. Some pain you never recover from. You just push on, because you have no choice.
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