Two weeks. Two long, excruciating, awful weeks. The call no parent wants, we got. Just as Jess said, “It has been like an out of body experience.”
The past few days have been hard; really, really hard. When you have nothing to do but think, depression happens. I started feeling guilty because I didn’t get to physically say goodbye. I know why, but it isn’t fair. As a parent, we are supposed to keep our children safe. I failed. I also know I didn’t fail. The back and forth in my head, much like a tennis or ping pong match, is never ending.
I find myself jealous of my friends. They are celebrating so much. They get to watch their kids grow. But I am also so happy for them. Their kids are amazing and they deserve happiness.
Time won’t heal me. It might ease some pain, but I will not recover from this. There will always be pain. I also keep hearing about thoughts and prayers. I don’t want them. I want my beautiful son back. But that won’t happen. I also know that thoughts and prayers come from a person or persons who, by all means, mean well.
Two weeks. Two of the longest, hardest, most painful fucking weeks of my/our lives. I just want him to come through the door. I don’t want to hug the damn ground when I “see” him. I am doing my best not to curl under a rock. Thank G-D for therapists. I don’t want to see my girls hurting. They are just hurting so much. Thankful for their therapists.
Two weeks. Why does time move so fast and so slow?