I miss my son. It is hurting me so much. I can’t see past the veil of tears. And I am alone. So very alone. No-one sees my pain. No-one hears my pain. No-one sees the bitter waterfall cascading down my face. Full of regrets. Full of lost love for the little person that I so badly wanted to hold and to love and to cherish but never got the chance to do any of that.
No-one to hug me, and tell me that everything will be OK. No-one there to lend a shoulder to cry on. It is my battle alone. And alone I am. The pain of this loss is too great to bare. I thought that with time it would ease. But it hasn’t. There are times when respite is longer and less tears are shed, but then when the grief hits, it submerges you under, and you’re drowning once more in knee deep grief.
Alone. Desperately alone. Alone. Alone. Alone. Desperately alone. Alone. Alone. Alone. Desperately alone. Alone. Alone. Alone. Desperately alone.
Battling, fighting against the current of grief, sinking and drowning. Sinking and drowning as the waves crash against you, and your whole body submerges under, and you’re alone – no-one is there to rescue you from this onslaught of pain.
I can’t go on waking up every morning pretending that everything is OK. Pretending that nothing is missing. My son is missing. And I am alone. Always alone. I can’t go on fighting this anymore. Sink I do, submerged into grief once more.