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.