I don’t know how to explain it.
It’s hard to speak about it, so I only talk about it with a select few. I am still barely able to write about it.
It’s hard to sit and think it out, hard to not sit in a blank, struggling to find words.
My life moves, in slow-motion.
Whoever said “it get’s better with time”, clearly never lost a child.
I find myself overwhelmed with grief and sadness, in disbelief that this happened at all, and still isn’t over. I keep asking myself, has is really been over 15 years, how did that happen, where did that time go? How much time is left? Will we reunite? How will that happen? Where?……
All this time later, it’s still a bunch of unanswered questions. Always thinking the same thoughts round and round. They call it post-traumatic stress disorder. I can be fine one moment, then falling apart the next, something suddenly brings the pain rushing to the surface. They’re called triggers. It took years of therapy for me to learn to make sense of these feelings and emotions, and even more years to understand and accept that these words were not just medical terminology, but part of life, after disaster struck.
It’s so frustrating.
Why can’t I just be mad as hell that this happened to us?
Why do I have to watch how I feel, watch what I say about how I feel, watch the way I act, apologize for I don’t know what?…… I just want to say that I am enraged at this whole thing. I want that happy couple who did this to us, to explain themselves, and to tell us why they were happily willing to rip our family apart, so they could play house.
I want to tell them how I feel.
I want to tell them I will never forgive them.
I want to break things, throw things, smash things. I want to yell, and scream and cry.
I want to just lose it.
I have felt so trapped by all of this for a long, long time. Seemingly, a lifetime.
It has taken my joy, my love, my trust, my time, my energy, my sleep, my creativity, everything. A marriage, a baby, a home, my laughter, my light.
I realize now that I looked at the world, in a state of blissful innocence, up until this.
I still recall the moment I found out, fell to my knees, cried, and crawled to the bathroom to vomit. It was like whiplash, taking off the rose-colored glasses, and waking up to a dark, grey, apocalyptic place.
I am absolutely irate, and I have the right to be, and I refuse to apologize for it any longer. This wasn’t any of our bad, it was theirs. This childless couple, with the fake smiles, and perfectly airbrushed lives and carefully crafted Facebook profiles.
This isn’t our shame or our secret, it’s theirs.
I am unquestionably unforgiving, and I’m not at all sorry.