Ouch - 1

'You stay here, no go to work, I go to the park with Papa'?'? The last words I hear you speak ' the last emotion I will ever see, hear or feel was delivered with a tear. Not a way to remember one so young. 29 months that's it. It is easier to talk about those days, that year, now that nearly 14 years has passed but the date is coming up and I am starting to get that all too familiar cramping in my heart. I am looking at your photos now more so than ever and trying to remember that little crooked smile and your bright brown eyes so full of hope that looked up and said goodbye and goodnight to me.

Who knew when I left that day it would be our last.

It has taken the birth of another child to make me feel 'normal'?, whatever the hell normal is. They. Who are 'they'? anyway? They say you never really get over the loss of a child. I can't say I have gotten over it but I have learned to deal if that's what you want to call it.

I have learned not to speak the truth but to lie quickly when asked how many children I have. To say ONE ' all you need is one, not to dismiss your existence in any way, but to quell the questions and so I don't have to respond to the 'I'm sorry or the what happened?

I deal with the past like the future, I don't expect, I accept. It's easier on the mind to not think so much, to not over analyze people and situations so that everyone around you feels the tension. I try and some days I succeed. Other days I am just glad I am able to put two feet on the ground and get out of bed. I stumble through the days sort of in a fog ' I'm here in body I say, but not in spirit. I am existing.

Those close to me know. They knew me way back then, when my smile was open and my eyes were bright and cheerful and hopeful just like yours. Now I am moody and mean and posses a take no prisoners attitude when it comes to others ' I am hard in relationships as I lack patience. I am hard to live with, as I know perfection exists in this disgusting world if only for 29 months, 1 day, 19 hours and 14 minutes. It existed.

As I get older, I remember less. I cannot recall your voice, or a mannerism or your smell - as it has long dissipated on the pj's I kept for those times when I really needed to punish myself. I say punish myself because that's what it feels like. I made a poor choice and I paid dearly for it. I paid with your life and my own and each day I struggle to not make the same mistake again. I do not trust anyone.

Sometimes I sit and wonder what if? Those are the days when I push those who love me now away. I pick the fights I know no one will ever win and I sit alone, staring into an iced glass of gin. Not really drinking it but sipping each icy, dry, drop feels like a little knife sliding down my throat. Punishing myself always feels good.

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