The truth hurts

I cringe every time I look at a photo of myself. Whoever said that when you lose a child there's only one way you categorize things from that point on: before the death and after, was absolutely correct. I despise that difference. By no means was everything perfect in my life before Boston passed, but it didn't matter because I had him and Quinton. For once in my life I was content. I look at the few pictures I've been in since his death and it's like there is nothing behind my eyes. Eyes tell stories, but mine are empty. I can't help but wonder if the glint in them will ever return, but I don't really think it will. 

Losing a child robs you of a million moments, a million memories, a million feelings. It leaves you terrified, heartbroken, and the light I use to have in me is no longer there. It's off searching through the darkness trying to find my baby... I really just want my son. 

Life and people have been terribly hard to deal with lately because losing a child also results in being labeled as the person who must just be crazy because they lost a child... And so many people "can't imagine" what we're going through. I honestly think what I've been through (in some ways) makes me more sane than most, and before you think "Okay, she's really lost it" please hear me out. I don't live in ignorance. There is a black hole of truth you get thrown into when you experience such a traumatic loss. 

You don't get to go home and pretend that everything's okay and I've learned that people really don't like it when you're real. It makes them uncomfortable. 

They'd rather go home and pretend that pain like this doesn't exist because they don't have to deal with it. I don't get to do that. There's truly no pretending here. The face I literally ache to see each day is only in pictures on my wall. The sleeper I woke up and put on my unbelievably adorable son on his last day lays on my pillow along with the blanket he had with him. There is little bits of the clay that they used to make the mold of his hand stuck to it's sleeves. In my closet there is a huge chest where I keep things of his that I will cherish forever. His car seat is sitting by the door of my bed. I don't get to pretend because no matter where I am or where I go, my baby boy isn't there. 

Just try to imagine that... but you can't right? Well, I don't have to imagine. This is my life. My baby. My broken heart. My broken family.

I will spend the rest of my life trying to find ways to make Boston's name live on in a positive light, but I will never speak anything less than the reality of how truly awful losing him has been. 

To the sweetest boy I've ever known...I miss you with every breath that I take.