I have a son who would have been six years old this 24th September. Six year olds are like wise old men because they are very proud that they no longer are babies and cannot wait to go to a 'real school'. But fact remains that he probably is not going to be a regular six years old. He probably has many obstacles to go through.
I hate these dark clouds that hang over me each year because he did not even celebrate one birthday. Each year, I promised myself that I am going to forget about him and stop wondering what he would be like. But that feelings will creep in and it will take a while to shake off.
I am done with my grief support group. I cannot bear to hear another newly bereaved mom pining for deceased child. So, I no longer have anyone to talk to about that son. I never talk about him in a sad light in the family with my other children or even my husband. It is only fair I let my other children think happy thoughts of the brother.
So, I guess I will wallow on these shitty feelings till I am done with crying. I hate these feelings. I want to be the normal mom that I am on normal days. But things tend to spark off those damn feelings of self-pity.
Then again, maybe it is good that I have gone through these sort of feelings because it makes me more human. It makes me feel and see things people don't. Because people do not really know the meaning of 'I miss you'. Not when they do not know what it is like to lost a fragile, helpless, little, adorable baby and you no longer get to touch the baby soft skin anymore.
Oh God, bring on October and maybe Christmas?