May 4, 2010 at 6:34 pm
I try to make sense of why you left me this way. Why you left all of us with a hole in our hearts and so many questions to ask. I try to reconnect and live but each step, inside each moment, is filled with slow motion silence that flashes images of our happy lives together. You came into the world, along with your brother on March 31, 1986. You, born first, were given the name Baby A until I could hold you and name you myself. I miss you every second, and every split quarter of a second. There is not a given time that I stop thinking about you. At night I am haunted by your pain and your last moments of life. Even still in death, I am your Mother and I am here, barely breathing and not understanding how to hold on. Our house is now a museum of memories that leaves barely any room to blink. I feel an unusual fear to leave, wondering if I will miss you, convinced that you are coming home.