There are moments in my life where I am acutely aware of my in-adequateness.  At the fact that I wasn’t able to keep my son from dying. My body failed me. And each time I hear someone is having a baby, I know they will be able to take their baby home and I am happy for them. But I am sad that I couldn’t keep my son.  Sometimes angry that I couldn’t keep him.

Why is it that this year everything is so much harder than last year?  Why is it that this year I can’t seem to cope well with my son’s death and that the air is thick with memories and what if’s?  Why did Sebastian have to die?  Each time I hear a family member is pregnant – I want to scream, I want to weep for what I have lost. It feels like a spear went straight into my heart. Yet I am happy for the person that is pregnant. I just don’t always want to hear about it.

I can feel myself sinking into the slow descent of depression.  Cushioned in darkness.  Reminded of my failure of not being able to keep my son alive from a certain death. I prayed that he would have the best daddy in the world. And he got that. Was it a selfish prayer?

Why did my son have to die? I feel like I have failed my son. That I couldn’t give him life. That I couldn’t protect him the way a mother should have been able to protect her child.  Why do I feel like I am falling and fading… why do I feel like this week has dragged me under the currents.  I am painfully broken.