March 9th 2013 is the day that I had to say good bye to my little one. Four years have passed since that day and you would think that it gets easier. For some people it does get easier. For others it doesn’t.
It doesn’t get easier for me. The sadness and despair takes over my mind. By the end of the night I’ll be crying in the shower under the hottest stream of water that the human body can endure. Just like every other time, I won’t feel the sting of the water on my skin. I won’t feel the burn or anything after that.
At this point I have to wonder, why does it hurt more now? There is no three year old running around the house causing chaos and destruction. There are no crayon markings all over the wall. Why does grief have to feel so real? Its like a second skin…reminding me of what I couldn’t do. What I failed to do.
I am suppose to protect and love. How can I call myself a mother if I couldn’t even protect my child from me?