Everything is gray

I hate hearing sirens. I wasn't even there when that sound filled the neighborhood my son was in but I absolutely despise the noise knowing it's an announcement to everyone around that something is most likely terribly wrong. Every time I see or hear one I wonder if it's the one Bosty was in. I remember pulling up to the ER and seeing it through the tiny little windows on the garage connected to the hospital. I still really can't believe it was my baby. When we let balloons go last Wednesday I remember thinking how amazing it would be if I arrived and he was just there. 

The balloons really were so beautiful, but not even comparable to Boston. I would truly never wish this pain on anyone but I want to understand why it had to be him. Why it had to be me? Why my family? It's a very hard thing to explain, but him dying was and is still shocking. When people ask me about him and tell me how much they can't imagine what im going through I think they expect some type of answer, but I really don't have one. I'm pretty sure the only thing I've ever responded with is that it's been very hard. Somebody perfectly healthy dying is always hard to wrap your mind around, but especially a baby. They are such a representation of the future and when they die so much is lost and the future you thought you had disappears. 

There really is a constant cloud over my life. The feeling of doom never leaves. I hate that too. I constantly see "inspiring" quotes and bible verses that explain that no matter what happens to you, it's up to you yourself and/or God to make your life positive and that no bad feeling is permanent. It makes me want to scream. No offense, but some things are permanent and positivity isn't really a mindset easily captured after watching life's most horrible nightmare unfold in front of your own eyes. Everything is so scary now. I was not chosen for this and having people tell me that I will someday understand and see why this happened is baffling to me. I wish it was true and I don't say this to insult anyone, but I really want to know what positive thing could ever come from handing my own incredibly perfect and beautiful son over to a detective after watching him die.

Boston's death is as endless as the time without him seems to be and while I would love to have his 68 days on this earth bring good, the cloud hanging over my head will forever cast a shadow that no amount of good nor light will ever out shine. The only other thing as endless as all of this is my love for him. Talk about irreplaceable...

"There is, I am convinced, no picture that conveys in all its dreadfulness, a vision of sorrow, despairing, remediless, supreme. If I could paint such a picture, the canvas would show only a woman looking down at her empty arms.” -Charlotte Bronte