Now what

Written on 3-20-16

The irony of my son dying on St. Patrick's day is torture. Talk about bad luck...

All the Facebook posts, every store I went into in the weeks leading up to it, every person I spoke to, everything reminded me of just how easily the world went on without my Bosty. 

While I was dying inside, everyone else was partying, dressing up in green, and basking in their hopes of good luck. I don't believe in luck anymore, but I do believe there is life after death. In all the excruciating hours I have spent racking my brain as to why life is so damn painful, all I have come up with is this; my time on earth is just a chapter. A state of being that will some day escape me, but my struggle here on earth will be far from the end of my story. When I cross over to the other side a new kind of life will start for me... One where heartbreak no longer controls me, one with my chubbles at my side, a life with my son that no one can take away from me. 

So, to the sweetest boy I've ever known,

I cannot believe a whole year has gone by. One that felt like an entire lifetime, but where it escaped to I'm not sure. Last year on this very day at this very time I was standing next to your casket at Miller funeral home doing the only thing I knew how to do.. Take care of you. Every single part of me still aches to do that.

 This year has been one from the depths of hell and society's opinions on grief and where I "should" be are far from the reality of where Im actually at. I didn't just lose you that day, I lose you every day in each moment that you should be by my side, but you're not.  Some days I can breathe and make it through without terrible thoughts of your death crippling me, other times weeks will go by without me leaving the house. There is one thing that always stays the same.. I want you back. I want to know you. I want to know what would make you smile, make you upset, sad, laugh, cry, sleepy, literally everything. I'm not sure how I will ever come to terms with the fact that I don't get to do that. 

Every time I'm convinced I truly understand you're gone, another anniversary creeps by and I realize just how much I have begged and prayed and somehow believed you would have came back by now, but here I am with empty arms and those same 68 days of memories that I'm forced to make last a life time. 

My heart hurts every day, but that pain never dulls how completely I love you. 

I will always, always, be proud of you Boston.